Johnny Mudo And Prince Puma's World Famous Friendship
by fantasticly-anonymous
Summary: "Puma!" Johnny put a hand to the other luchador's chest... then was tackled to the mat by no fewer than three zealous referees. How Johnny and Puma's world famous friendship began, nearly ended, and eventually evolved. Taking place between and behind the scenes of the season one Cage vs Puma story arc. Rated T for some language, Lucha violence, feels, and some romantic themes.
1. Johnny's Gilt

**The aftermath of the main event of episode 10. Prince Puma successfully defended his title against Fenix, but what happened after, nobody saw coming.**

He was running. Ran as fast as he could from the locker room, through the crowds of now booing fans, dodging puddles of what he hoped was spilled beer and soda, ignoring the odd fan who noticed him and tried to get a high five.  
It- it was too late. Cage was slipping from the ring and the announcers were on there feet, signaling for the refs to both track down the interloper and get the medics. Things they were already on their ways to doing.

Johnny'd been watching on the fritzy tube television they kept in the cantina, right through the locker room, and hadn't believed his eyes when that machine of a man had jumped into the ring after Fenix's flight outta there. Mostly because the TV sometimes shorted, went all fuzzy, showed double images, made a weird grainy noise, then went back to its normal Lo-fi display.  
But when Cage hit Puma- _Prince_ Puma in the back of the head, Johnny Mundo had jumped out of his plastic chair, dropped his juice box, and bolted past three other Luchadores. Launching himself over the locker benches before smashing his way through the door. He wasn't gonna let this happen. Not on his watch.

His watch. He should've been watching. He knew Cueto was a two timing snake who'd let and encourage anything and everything dirty and brutal happen in the name of violence, but he hadn't expected- hadn't _thought_ to expect something like this.  
He should have been sitting near the ring. Instead...

He heard the Power Bombs, could feel them through the floor, before he was anywhere near the ring. His gut sank with every stride.  
Once. Twice. No, not- thrice.  
After that match he'd just watched Puma fight, those had to be world rocking. Concussion, concussion, concussed.

He skidded to a stop, heart not even in his chest, and saw Cage exiting through a door on the opposite end of the temple. Darn thug could be in a car peeling out of there by the time Johnny caught up to him.  
Then his eyes swept the ring and got caught on the blank, glassy pair which weren't returning his panicked stare.

Was he? No.  
Johnny Mundo vaulted two refs, right on over the top rope, and landed within arms reach of the World Champion. He heard, in one corner of his mind, Vampiro and Striker yelling at the refs and the audience, speculating that, "Maybe Mundo wasn't over his and Prince Puma's feud after all!"  
He skidded to his knees and shivered at the sight.  
Puma hadn't reacted at all to the mat jarring at the weight of someone new entering the ring, and -Johnny studied him desperately for a moment- he wasn't breathing.

Movement, small as it was, caught Johnny's attention out the corner of his eye. Puma's hand was scrabbling against the mat, his leg was trembling, and -Johnny flashed his eyes to the mask known around the world- yes; Puma's mouth was making like a fish out of water!

Johnny Mundo huffed in relief. Prince Puma wasn't... He'd had the wind knocked out of him.  
Now that he looked the champ over again: his entire body was taught like a primed bow string, the muscles caught up in a battle against paralysis, pain, and the need for oxygen.

"Puma." No reaction. "It's alright, relax. Cage is gone," he heard the commotion of bodies clambering up the steps and through the ropes, "the medics are here, and you're still champ."  
At the last word he saw Prince Puma's eyes snap into focus, and for a half second he hoped they'd meet his, then Puma's entire body went limp and those expressive orbs of his closed with a sickening finality.  
"Puma!" Johnny put a hand to the other luchador's chest... then was tackled to the mat by no fewer than three zealous referees.

"And the refs are handling things ringside!  
"Vamp, what do you think Johnny Mundo was gonna do there?"

"I don't know, Matt, but I gotta tell you: If he's tryin' to garner sympathy with that affected devastation on his face, it's completely lost on me, brother."

"Well, maybe we'll have the opportunity to ask him once the dog pile realizes he's not trying to get up."

"Heh. Don't count on gettin' the truth outta Mundo. He's always playin' at something when there's a camera around."

"Haven't those been turned off?"

"... Shut up, Matt."

As little as he liked nearly six-hundred pounds of aggressive, black and white striped non-combatants attempting to make him into a Mundo pancake, Striker was correct; he wasn't trying to get out from under them.  
He was, in fact, content in his predicament. He'd felt Puma's chest move, and though there was no hope of hearing it over the refs yelling at him to, "Stay down!", he was sure the champ was catching his breath at last.  
By that point he was hoping to catch his own breath sometime soon.

"Let him up. If he'd wanted to end Puma's world, he would have." Said with both cynicism and hope by a voice which commanded attention. Everyone became aware of Prince Puma's trainer standing by the side of the ring, leaning on his cane and scrutinizing the scramble taking place up around his eye level. It must have looked like a free for all.

The three officiators took a moment to stop yelling, then they all found their feet in a virtually synchronized move and stepped to the ropes. Hoping to give the medics more room, and to put some distance between themselves and a disgruntled Mundo. They'd mussed his hair, after all.

Johnny took the new found freedom well, not jumping to his feet and causing more hysteria, but instead staring Konnan down as long as his worry would allow. What reason had Prince Puma's trainer to vouch for him? Konnan's face wasn't giving anything away. Unless you count the healthy heaping of disdain, but that was pretty standard fair from the veteran by this point. So... attention back to Puma!

One medic was shining a penlight into a manually opened Puma eye, another was taking pulse from two different pulse points, and the third was glancing over Johnny to make sure his reason for not standing wasn't injury related, presumably anyway, while working open a neck brace and cracking an ice pack in seemingly one movement. Talk about feats of dexterity.

"You see anything indicative of serious injury when you got here?" The medic's voice was both rougher and higher pitched than one might expect, and it was directed at Johnny, of all people.

"What?"

"Fighters know the difference between a boo boo and an injury. Talk." The words bit out while handing off the neck brace to the medic with the penlight and setting the ice pack down in order to crack two more, over a knee this time. "Besides, you were first on the scene."

"Uh," no one had ever asked him questions like those before.

"Better answer quick, man. We're outta here in t-minus one and Clara, Federico, and I don't like hold ups." Said by the one pulling a definitely not folding chair shaped stretcher onto the mat.

"Right. Um, eyes open, unresponsive, and the wind was knocked out of him. Nothing looked broken though."

"Yeah, well, spines are tricky. So are concussions, so we're moving this poor bastar- _fighter_ ASAP." Johnny wondered to who's benefit the one he figured was Clara had censored that descriptor. Maybe figured folks like him -read; fighters- must not have known their fathers and might just be sensitive about it. Go figure.  
"Gabby, we on?"

"Like ugly on an ape. Let's motor." Penlight long stashed, Federico had applied the neck brace and helped Gabby strap the unconscious Puma to the plastic gurney, careful to allow Clara room for the ice packs. "Just don't clothesline yourself on the ropes again. We really don't wanna fumble this one."

"That was once and over a year ago! Give it a rest," growled by an unimpressed Clara, slithering a careful way to solid ground.

"Uh-huh. Don't forget that time-"

"Different sport, Gabby. Doesn't count."

Johnny tried his best to ignore the frankly out of place banter and instead took note of the staunch professionalism exuded by every part of the team. Aside from their mouths. It looked almost choreographed, not unlike a Lucha match in its dance like pacing.  
He was glad to be paying such attention to them. Because he had been, he was first to figure out where that strange noise was coming from.

"Wait!" Johnny recognized it as the sound of fingernails against plastic, and it was coming from, "Puma's coming around!"

Because they'd only been pulling up the bottom rope and beginning to maneuver the plastic stretcher for sliding off and out of the ring, they stopped and pulled the penlight back out.

"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?" As soon as Puma's eyes opened, the little penlight was clicked on and shone in one, then the other, making tears form at their corners.  
"Sir, can you hear me?" Federico's patient blinked, but made no attempt to speak. "Sir, how many fingers am I holding up?" More blinking, but still no response forthcoming. He switched off and stored the generally trusty and almost never a stupid piece of shi- penlight, and tried again. Making doubly sure to be in the recumbent fighter's easy line of sight.  
"Sir, please tell me, how many fingers am I holding up?" Still nothing, and now the Luchador seemed to be realizing he was strapped down. Not always the best way to wake up.  
"Clara, he's giving me nothing. Let's get him to the paddy wagon."

"Right," then, in an under the breath huff, "like we were just doing."

"We're gonna have to run an IV then. After that bout he's gotta be dehydrated." The other two nodded in agreement. Probably fluids were Gabby's specialty.

Just as the EMTs were pulling up the bottom rope again, Johnny caught a glimpse of Prince Puma's eyes. There was a flash of recognition there when Puma's line of sight was cleared and he saw Johnny for the first time that evening.

"Wait, wait, wait, guys." The medics paused, still primed to hustle it on outta there, but listening all the same. "Puma doesn't talk..." Was 'much' the right word? Trailing off was probably more accurate.

"He's right." Konnan was suddenly beside Clara, leaning on his cane right next to the ring, near Puma's head. "My fighter talks to nobody, 'cause he doesn't _need_ words to strike fear into his opponents. He's that good." He leered over the top of his glasses at every person in turn, then left their company to handle the situation themselves.  
Maybe he had business to attend to elsewhere?

"Let me," Johnny started, pointing between Federico and the strapped down champ.

"Hey, you have 10 seconds, then we're outta here."

Mundo nodded and took the EMTs place, situating himself so he blocked the harsh overhead lighting from Puma's face. Then he took a deep breath. "Puma, if you can hear me, blink once." He blinked. "Alright, blink how many fingers I'm holding up?" Three blinks for three fingers. Well, one was a thumb but he'd let that slide. Trick question after all.  
"Once for yes, twice for no: Does anything feel broken?" A pause wherein Puma seemed to consciously pull against the restraints, especially those pinning his arms, then he huffed and gave two blinks.  
Johnny all but smiled, then looked up at the medics, all on standby.

"Yeah, we saw that," said Clara, with a scowl.

"Let's just get him backstage then. We can give him first aid and a thorough once, twice over there just fine. Do it enough around here already," Gabby threw in, grumbling the last sentence practically to herself.

"That's how he answered me the first time. I don't know how I missed it," Federico lamented his inadequacy with a sigh. "Good thing you and the coach were here. That would have been an awkward hospital run..."

Puma tensed up, looking like he wanted to shake his head. Then his hands started scrabbling with sloppy coordination, attempting to find the releases on the sides of the gurney.

"I don't think he wants a hospital visit." Johnny chipped in.

"Well he'll get one if he doesn't lay still while we get him backstage. You hear me, Luchador?" Clara got a one blink for that. Satisfied, they all three got him off stage, around a corner, down a fanatical crowd wreathed corridor, and backstage to an area Johnny wasn't all that familiar with.

"Vamp, I don't think I've ever seen medics take that long to get someone off stage."

"Yeah, it's been a while since I've seen another fighter follow them off too. Ulterior motive or no, Mundo doesn't seem to have it out for the champ tonight."

"And the cameras aren't even on!"

"... I hate you, man."

While the announcers went back and forth, helping keep the crowds of faithful in the loop, the EMT team was in an entirely different part of the temple, attempting to lay out the stretcher. Which was proving a bit difficult, considering they wanted somewhere level _and_ clean. They settled on a convenient practice mat, hoping against hope that the smell of alcohol was clinging to it because it'd just been cleaned.

"Okay, Puma, we're going to undo the restraints. We need you to not move though, not even your arms, until we've cleared all threat of spinal injury. Understand?" Puma gave Federico a one blink and glanced around the room, seeming to check for potential threats. Or maybe ice cream machines, though that was less likely.

While the EMTs undid the restraints, Johnny took a seat on a stool, which he made look two sizes too small, situated between them and the door. Trying his best to look non threatening, he stayed quiet and watched them poking and prodding the champ in a manner which closely resembled a game of 'Operation!'. Main differences being: that this was no game, and if you hit a buzzer, you'd have a visit to a real life hospital on your hands.

"You feel that? Good."

"Does me doing this make you wanna scream. No? How 'bout this?"

"Ay, Clara! Stick to the official patter!"

"What? He gets it. Am I right, Fighter?" The question thrown over a shoulder, aimed at Johnny.

"Uh... The name's Mundo," he said, trying to sound arrogant, but missing the mark by at least ten feet.

"Heh, you hear that, Puma? He doesn't like his new nickname," Clara chuckled while doing something to the champ's arm which looked like it was supposed to hurt.  
Johnny thought he saw Puma raise an eyebrow at the comment, but it was kind of hard to tell from over on his itty bitty stool.

After another high strung minute worth of seconds, Johnny was surprised by an angry sounding, "Alright, enough of this shi-"

"You're right, Clara," Gabby cut off. "There's nothing wrong with, uh... Puma's spine. Let's get some fluids in him and monitor that concussion for a while." It seemed to take her a moment to remember their patient's name. With a name like 'Prince Puma', just goes to show; EMTs must have a hectic job.

Federico extracted a plastic bottle from a med bag and helped Puma sit up to drink from it, cracking the lid and unscrewing it for the Luchador who most likely wouldn't be doing any fine motor control stuff like that for at least a few more minutes.

"I know it tastes like melted lollipops, but it'll take the edge off that..." At a loss for words, the medic sort of waved a hand to indicate Prince Puma's body.

"I call poking those gnarly bruises!" Clara all but jeered, pointing with eager anticipation at Puma's freshly exposed back.

Puma's head snapped around toward the promise of pain, but the sudden, sharp movement brought him up short. A hissed intake of breath and he dropped the full bottle of goo, which splashed all over the place, spooking him enough that he tried to dodge the wet syrup's rebound. Which in turn overbalanced him completely and sent him sprawling back down.

"Not so fast, Tiger," Johnny said, having scooped an arm behind Puma, stopping him hitting both the mat and the plastic stretcher they hadn't yet cleared away. No one was quite sure how he'd gotten there so quickly. Not even Johnny, who thought maybe he'd seen it coming. Cats and liquids, after all.  
It _was_ obvious though that Puma couldn't be trusted to sit on his own, so Johnny scooped the pained Prince up the rest of the way into his arms and carried him over to the nearest, accommodating soft surface. Ignoring the quiet gasp and surprised claw in his forearm, and careful of the "gnarly bruises" beginning to bloom.  
He set his -was he allowed to call him this?- friend in a sprawling, nearly upright sit against the overstuffed arm of a ratty sofa. Which he hadn't noticed until he'd needed some place to put someone down. Hm.  
"I think you can keep from injuring yourself there. Nice and comfy on a big, soft couch. You look right at home. Like a house cat," Johnny said, hands on hips, barely keeping back chuckles. Especially after Puma's miserable attempt at flipping him off, with one clumsy hand scraping up from under and then out from his chin. He gave it no conviction, and his eyes really weren't selling it.  
Yeah, Johnny couldn't hold in the chuckles after that.

"Nice one, Fighter," said an entertained Gabby, stepping up to the couch and plopping down in the accompanying armchair, which Johnny also hadn't noticed till then. "Laughing at the infirmed now? I like it! Suits you."

"Hey now, that's not fair!"

"Yeah, yeah. Save it for the stage, Tall Man," she said while popping the seal on a new bottle of goo. "Here Puma. Maybe don't make a huge mess with this one, buddy? You need electrolytes, and _lots_ of sugars, and-"

Figuring a medic of Gabby's skill and... disposition could probably go on and on about the myriad reasons a Luchador should not survive the next few hours if they didn't drink that magic swill, he cut her off with a polite-ish swipe of the bottle. Seeing as Puma seemed to be recoiling with every new descriptor of what that "melted lollipop" goo actually was, Johnny figured his - _could_ he use the word?- friend wouldn't be keen on accepting it, nor drinking it.  
Time for a sure fire technique: Monkey see, monkey do.

"Can't be as bad as it sounds," said a totally not hesitant Mundo, turning the bottle around in one hand while scrutinizing the medical language on the label. With a shrug, he twisted the lid the rest of the way off and held his breath as he took a generous _sip_. The consistency made him shiver more so than the flavor. It was like drinking a cold loogie.  
"Never mind: it is," he said, shaking his head in disgust. "Your turn."

Puma's eyes widened as Johhny moved the offending bottle closer. Puma held out a hand, seemingly to ward off the horrid offering, looking a bit like he was reaching for the ropes from the mat, in the middle of a knock down, drag out fight.

"Come on, man. _I_ drank some, and I haven't even fought today!" Sparring didn't count. Neither did parkouring to work.  
With infinite patience, Johnny sighed and moved closer, "Fine, tit for tat, then." Puma hooked a barely visible eyebrow and lowered his arm, which sorta flopped down onto his stomach. "You drink some, I drink some," Johnny said, crouching into a kneel right in front of the sofa. "We'll suffer together."

Puma huffed and rolled his eyes, but in grudging acquiescence as opposed to pure displeasure. Then he flicked his wrist and fingers, indicating Mundo take his turn first.

"Oh no you don't; I already took the first swing. C'mon, take it like a champ, Champ." Johnny snickered, self satisfied, at Puma's entertained head cock. He snickered louder when a shaky Puma paw came up to take the drink for himself.  
"I don't think so. Not after _that_ fiasco," he said, indicating behind himself, where the other two medics were still occupied with clean up.

 _"Really?"_ Said Puma's entire face.

"You can help." When Puma didn't look swayed, he tacked on a quiet, "Chillón."

Not taking kindly to Gabby's cackling laugh at the taunt, and **definitely** not taking kindly to being called a crybaby, Puma narrowed his eyes and nodded a, _"Bring it on."_

As promised, Johnny let the reclining Luchador 'help' to guide the 'drink' to his mouth, and _didn't_ try to force the whole thing down his throat in an effort to expedite the process.  
After about one good sized sip, Puma shivered the way Johnny had and, -surprise,surprise- got _this close_ to spitting it out. Presumably, the only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that he'd likely be branded with a new nickname if he did. That, or it kinda got stuck in his throat -like a loogie is wont to- and he was forced to swallow it or choke.  
The sputtering hiss had Johnny leaning more toward one possibility than the other.

The not so princely Puma swiped at his own mouth, almost missed it too, and stuck out his tongue with a shake of his head. Then he winced.

"Yep. The whole thing. In your belly. **Now** ," said a leering Gabby. Then her face lightened, as if she's just thought of something delightful. "That, or the IV's making an appearance after all."

Scared straight, Puma took another quick sip, then did a double take at the offending bottle and pushed it towards Mundo's face.

"That one's on you," Johnny grinned out, as he accepted his turn to hit the bottle. He had to dodge when Puma retaliated with an upward swipe, meant to tip the bottle into giving Mundo a bigger mouthful. "Nuh-uh, I went to school; I know all the tricks," he said, accompanied with a 'that is disgusting' cringe.

"Tu eres chillónitos! Haha!"

At Gabby's loud chiding, the two Luchadores peaked around to make sure no one else was suddenly super interested in their... activities.  
The two Emergency Medical Technicians not babysitting the two grown fighters were; just finished sopping up the goop off the practice mat, floor, and his own EMT jacket, and shoving the last of the team's med supplies under a four seater table situated next to a mini fridge. Respectively.  
If the laughing hadn't caught their attentions, they'd be over there soon enough anyway. Puma and Mundo's eyes met and it was time for a tag team match.  
Opponent: Super Gross Loogie Drink!

Johnny definitely didn't blush when a long ago memory of middle school reminded him that, exactly what he was doing right now, would be bestowed the illustrious and ultimately embarrassing moniker of "Indirect Kiss", never to be lived down in the annals of school history. At least for your class and everyone who'd ever met you. They'd probably still snicker about it at the 15 year reunion.  
Whatever. That was kid stuff anyway. This was serious, adult, full life consequences, type stuff right here. Just a couple'a grown Luchadores sharing a drink... Literally.

They finished it off, Puma looking a little sour over getting the last shot, in the nick of time. Johnny slipped the bottle under the couch, easily blocking the action from view with his huge frame, just before a pair of boots stopped right behind him. Puma looked concerned.

"Alright, Fighter. Outta the way," Clara offered as explanation _while_ pushing Johnny aside. "This cat needs ice, pronto. Eh," came an exasperated sound when Puma tried to protest. "Stop squirming and it won't hurt! Haven't you used ice packs before? Yeah, yeah, it's cold. That's how it's _supposed_ to feel! How're they gonna ice anything if they're not cold as ice?!

"Clara." Said Federico, now standing behind the crouched tormentor, one hand outstretched and offering a selection of thin hand towels.

"Ugh, fine. Little kitten's afraid of a little biting cold? We'll wrap these suckers up in a buffer of cloth. See if the cold still soaks in effectively why don't we?" Sure, Clara was going _off_ , but it seemed no one wanted to stick their hand in and see whether they still had it come midnight.  
"You still feel like crap in the morning, don't come whining to me," said with a threatening finger pointing straight at Puma's half grateful, half perturbed face.

Johnny was pretty sure-, "He's gonna be feeling those marks a little longer than one night," yep. Federico took the words right out of his mind. "Besides, frostbite's a thing. Nasty too."

"You think everything's nasty!"

"I don't think your mom's nasty," he rebuffed, then turned towards Johnny who was still down on one knee, and said, "Gabby's mom makes the best pastries- you wouldn't _believe_ what beautiful forms sugar and flour can take!"

"Uh-huh. Hero worship, much?"

"What? Coming from the person who still has the Millennium album in their stereo?" He quipped, looking Johnny in the eye.

"Brother, don't knock the Backstreet Boys unless you're ready to take it to the mat."

"... Sorry. But your Momma's baking _is_ the best."

"Agreed," chimed in a Clara who'd just finished tucking several hand towel wrapped ice packs between a resigned Puma and the arm corner of the sofa.

Everyone was quiet for a few beats. Long, awkward beats, during which Puma tried not to cringe too obviously, and Clara tried not to inflict too much stink eye on him for it.

Johnny broke the silence by clearing his throat and, just like that, everybody was ready to find themselves seats.  
Johnny picked the end of the sofa, just past Puma's feet. Puma, for his part... didn't try to kick him off. Not more than once, anyway.

"So, Johnny, how were you first on scene? Our room is pretty close to the ring." What felt like the opening to a soft core interrogation, delivered by Federico, had Johnny avoiding Prince Puma's eyes and fighting down a blush.

"Uh, heh." He cleared his throat, still feeling that loogie juice there in the back. "Just... bolted through the locker room. Would have been there sooner, but the cantina's TV is a piece of shi-"

"At least you _have_ a TV!" Clara cut in. "All Mr. Cueto gave us was a radio, and it's barely nicer than the one in our paddy wagon!"

"Wait, you _listen_ to the fights?!" Asked Johnny, jumping on the chance to talk about something else.

"Yeah..." Said a reticent Federico.

"Heh, when the Led Zeplin marathon isn't on," Clara crowed.

"What? You wound me!" Said Johnny, putting a hand to his chest.

"Mm hm. Nice to know not lethally. Your heart is on your left side, Mundo."

"How do you know?" He asked the chiding Gabby, as he hid the offending hand behind his back, running the other through his still mussed hair to give off a chill, nonchalant vibe.

"Well," came Federico's turn, "we're basically doctors, or registered nurses or whatever, and pretty much every mammal known to exist on planet earth is set up that way. Unless they have more than one heart; then-"

"Give that a rest, man. You know earth worms aren't-"

"That's exactly my point, Gabby! You never listen!" No doubt a sore spot for Federico, the poor fellow sulked off to grab a juice box, which he would not be sharing, thank you very much.

Fewer than forty seconds later, he ended up coming back with _four_ juice boxes, the softy, and a little milk carton with markered on words scrawled across the face and side in a wrap around fashion saying, "Puma's. Don't touch. You wouldn't like it any way." Signed with a little crown.  
How he'd found that in the medic's secret mini fridge, the world may never know.

He distributed the spoils fairly. Winning himself an old school hand from the chin flip off, from Puma as well, Johnny observed. Probably deserved it for touching Puma's property.

"Heh, you're welcome, man." He said with a thumbs up. "Thought you might want it, after that-"

"Wait!" Johnny was saying that quite a bit for one night. "That's a 'thank you'?"

Federico and Puma both nodded. "Yep. Good ole ASL. Uh, American Sign Language," the EMT added, in response to Johnny's blank look. "Though, I think if Puma hadn't just gone an extra round with the 'Machine' out there, it'd look more like this," one hand came out and a little down from his mouth and Puma nodded with a grin.

"Ha, and I thought you were flipping us off," Johnny said, squeezing a Puma foot good naturedly. "Shows what I know."  
Puma looked quite amused at that. Then Johnny craned to see over Puma's shoulder, "And you speak Spanish?"

"We're _all_ bilingual, brother. One of the many reasons Mr. Queto keeps us on retainer," said Gabby, practically preening.

 _"Trilingual,"_ Puma said, by way of holding up three fingers, then pointing in Federico's direction.

"Eh, more like bi-and a half- lingual. It was my elective in college. It's a legitimate language and I'm glad that schools are beginning to take that seriously. 'Course, I also wish _I'd_ taken it seriously. At the time, I just needed to round out my course load, heh heh." His laugh was sheepish, and genuinely apologetic.  
Puma just grinned and signed the alphabet letters for OK.  
"That, I got, Brother! Good to hear!"

Everybody who hadn't yet, took the time to open or stab their drinks, and took a nice long pull. Refreshing.  
In the case of Puma's milk though, he had Johnny open it for him. Soon as Johnny'd downed half his Juice and noticed Puma hadn't gotten at the delicious white contents of his proudly tattooed box yet, anyway.

Not long after that, the EMTs were officially off the clock for the night and so, seeing as no one was, "currently dying right now" -thanks for the visual, Clara-, they gathered up all their more precious, or potentially lethal, supplies and started heading for the door.

"Well, Puma. Johnny."

"It was nice knowin' ya!"

"Don't be strangers! But also, don't get yourselves injured."

"Yeah, long as we're not, like, saving somebody's life or anything, we're always up for some company!"

"Maybe Mundo'd like to learn some spiffy hand signs? Might make tag team easier and secreter, eh?"

"I don't think 'secreter' is a proper adjective, Clara."

"Stuff it. And you too, Gabby, with the laughing."

So, laughing, they left the two Luchadores feelling rather flummoxed by the rapid departure, and with strongly worded instructions to call someone who was on the clock if something that seemed potentially lethal popped up.

"Just... keep keeping an eye on Kitty if you can, alright?" With a raised eyebrow and a nod to let Gabby know he had this, Johnny'd inadvertently given them all permission to leave.  
Now he was stuck with a not necessarily healthy Prince Puma and a weighty responsibility on his shoulders. That's a lot for someone who wasn't even supposed to be 'working' that day.

"Um, you doing good?" The only thing he could think to say.

Puma responded with the universal sign for, _"so-so,"_ then shrugged himself into a lower sit, sliding down the sofa enough that his still booted feet were resting on Johnny's legs. He seemed smug. He knew Mundo was trapped now.  
Mundo knew it too. Figured the best thing for it would be to annoy him back.

"Oh, sure I'll remove your boots for you!" Before Puma could hurt himself trying to scoot back up and away, Johnny'd grabbed one boot firmly by the heel, and begun working loose the laces. By the time he'd worked it completely off and started unlacing the other, Puma'd had a taste of foot freedom and resigned himself to his fate. Eyelids drooping ever so slightly.  
"Are you purring?"

Puma rolled his eyes and snuggled in to his comfy corner just a little deeper, before cringing and trying to reach behind himself without causing himself immense pain.

"Lemme get those. Just a sec," Johnny said, removing the remaining boot. Puma stopped the ill advised action and stared at his -could he use the word?- friend, not bothering to scowl when Johnny unceremoniously _dropped_ his only pair of wrestling boots on the floor.  
He kept staring as his one time... enemy?... work competitor? reached across the sofa between them, pulled him gently forward, almost into a hug, and rooted around behind him, until every melted ice pack had been evicted and squelched its unassuming introduction to the floor.

Johnny noticed the staring but made no effort to stop it. Puma had a right to be wary, after all. "Well," he started. Not quite meeting Puma's eyes. "I can leave, give you some privacy. If you-"

He hadn't even made a move to... move when a lightning fast paw, slowed some by exhaustion, touched him gently on the center of his chest. They were practically hugging, he realized with a hint of self-consciousness. At least this wasn't the kind of room others were likely to barge on into, see them like that, then run out of and- eh! This wasn't middle school.  
Puma pushed him back against the cushions just enough to communicate his meaning.

"Ok. I'll stay a while."

Puma let his hand drop, Johnny helped him lay back in his comfy corner without straining those "gnarly bruises", and this time; both of them were staring.

 _"Thank you,"_ Puma signed, followed by interlocking his pointer fingers then reversing the hold, in a gesture Johnny didn't know how to interpret. He addressed the part which he did.

"You're welcome, my friend." Yep. He was allowed to use the word! He knew so, judging by the grin breaking up the tenseness that'd been stuck on Puma's face the past little while.

Puma faded fast after that, exchanging light conversation, mostly about how cool the other Luchadores were, until his hands and eyelids were too heavy to lift anymore.  
Johnny watched him go to sleep, realizing that he himself was getting dangerously close to dreamland as well, but deciding anyway to stay with Puma a while longer. After all, however unlikely, he didn't want Cage having an easy go of things if he decided to break into the temple and... finish the jo- nope! Nope, not happening! His friend was gonna be just fine.

In the late morning, two Luchadores woke up on the most comfortable sofa in the Underground complex. Inexplicably covered with an old, fuzzy blanket that smelled of stale corn flakes, and wondering why it felt like they were sleeping on another person instead of a pillow.  
Johnny Mundo was the first to open his eyes, surprise being his chief emotion upon seeing an up close of a yellow Puma mask, followed by a healthy dose of confusion. What was he doing and where was he- oh, right: Cage had happened. EMTs, sign language, loogie goo, indirect kis- whoa. That all felt a lot like a dream. Except... yep. There was a Puma staring him in the eyes.

Puma felt quite similarly, except that his body was screaming at him to not play in oncoming traffic anymore. Especially not the bus lane.

Neither of them could figure out how they'd ended up sleeping on the same couch, how -presumably- neither of them had fallen off sometime in the night, nor how they'd managed to rearrange themselves thus:  
Johnny Mundo, Ender Of Worlds, was slouched over the blanket, resting most of his upper body on what felt like a pair of legs which were essentially spooning his midriff, their shins flush against the cushions of the back of the sofa. Curled in his lap, staring up at him with the sleepiest face he'd ever seen through a Lucha mask, was the rest of the World Champion of their league, Prince Puma.

"Uh, Buenos Días?" Johnny said, through a throat which really wished he had a glass of water near by. He sat up slowly, trying to not jar the extremely comfortable looking Puma and, at the same time, work out the kinks in his side. Won, no doubt, by sleeping for who knows how long in that awkward position.  
He ran a hand through his hair, thinking maybe bed head was what Puma was staring at. Without blinking. Or maybe he was still sleeping, but with his eyes open?

Nope. He was just staring again.

For reasons unbeknownst to Johnny, Puma reached out slowly, brought his hand to the back of Mundo's head, and pulled until their foreheads touched. Just for a moment.  
Johnny felt a low rumbling coming from the contact and realized that, "Yep. You purr. You're purring right now! Don't roll your eyes at me, I have- I heard that up close! Ow! No, my side is not a scratching post!"

It tickled more than it hurt, and made Johnny double over farther in an attempt to protect his open side. That got him in a good position to help Puma sit up, like a normal person, so the champ stopped kneading Mundo's side with his claws and accepted that it was time to get up.  
Didn't stop him hissing in displeasure when his body realized it had been moved against its wants.

"Hold on a sec, stay there, I'll be right back," Johnny said, getting up and disentangling himself the rest of the way from the fuzzy, old corn flake blanket.  
He stuck his head in the mini fridge and declared his awesomeness with an, "Ahah!" Then he walked back to the sofa, arms laden with several uncracked ice packs.

When Puma noticed what Mundo was doing, his eyes went wide and he yanked the blanket up to his chin. Stuck out his tongue for good measure.

"Uh huh, don't tell me they didn't help last night." When Puma's expression went sour he knew he'd won a point. "Yeah, we'll do it the same way then," he said, while snatching up and shaking out the spent packs from inside the hand towels.

Puma huffed out his nose and looked up at the ceiling, ignoring Johnny for his transgressions. Would serve him right!

"Right, scooch over. This is happening whether the ceiling is your new best friend or not." With a sigh, the prince conceded and maneuvered his back where it'd been set up for icing the night prior. But he didn't break eye contact with that rather worrying crack running ten feet across the ceiling. All water stained with little black spots of mold running along it, making it look almost like a caterpillar.  
One that could bring the whole roof down on you.

Johnny figured there was less complaining this time because of that ratty old blanket, so he thanked whoever had tossed it over them and hoped to the sweet Lord above that they hadn't taken pictures. Or, if they had, that they'd keep them to themselves. Like a polite creeper.

"There, all done!" He clapped his hands together, rather proud of his meager handiwork. He proceeded to flop back down on the sofa, the two of them back to how they'd been right after Puma's fight the last night. "I think we make a good team."

That time it was definitely a flip off.

"Haha! You too buddy! You too."

The next time Federico and Johnny were in a room together, Johnny learned that, between him and Puma, he hadn't been the first to call the other "friend".

 **It's hard to believe the amount of heart and soul these fighters put into their sport. I went from never having watched any pro wrestling, to being a Lucha Underground devotee in less than one episode.**  
 **Then, I started writing fanfiction for it before episode twelve.**

 **Hope we all have great fun with Lucha Underground for a long time to come!  
And just a heads up: Chapter two will be up soon!**  
 **~ Anonymous**

 **As a note: I am not a medical professional, neither am I a student of the medical fields. I hobbled together the scenarios and events in this story from things I've read, heard, and seen through my life.**  
 **If anything I've written turns out to be medically unsound, I apologize and hope you've enjoyed the read regardless!**


	2. Johnny's Guilt

**Set just a week or two after Johnny's Gilt.**

 **Prince Puma's first official match against Cage The Machine doesn't end on quite as victorious a note as many had hoped.**  
 **Especially considering he won the darn thing! Technically.**

 **Johnny's caught up in a bit of jeopardy, with far more than just his getting to work on time hanging in the balance.**  
 **Will the two of them survive the night? Will their friendship?**

Puma knew he had no right to wonder this, but he couldn't help the thought screaming across his mind like an illegally purchased bottle rocket on a Los Angeles 4th of July, "Where is Johnny?"

He knew he should be 100% in the moment, but he'd already taken enough shots to make the best Luchador see stars. If that was the case though, why couldn't he see Johnny Mundo?

He _knew_ this wasn't the kind of thing any self respecting fighter should think while still in the ring; while they could still lift their arms -even if they felt like lead weights were holding them down-, but..., "Where _is_ Johnny ?

Cage's attention seemed to be pulled away from him, which let his vision clear for a moment. What were the announcers yelling about? Aside from the match still going after the bell had been rung?  
Konnan? His trainer was in the ring! Where'd his cane gone? No! Konnan was down too.

Though Puma's hearing was shorting in and out, he _heard_ the tearing of the Championship Belt and it defied everything he knew about honor in the ring. Cage couldn't have it, so he was making sure no one else could.  
Cage was throwing a tantrum, and thankfully, it seemed as if he was just about tantrummed out. Yep, Puma could feel the ring leaning and then bouncing back to level as Cage made his belated exit.  
At least he didn't need to worry about covering himself anymore; Cage's blows could snap an arm if you weren't braced for them, and he'd taken a few too many shots to do so effectively.

Puma couldn't get his legs under himself to stand, the medics were already checking Konnan over, so he padded across the ring, on all fours, to one of the only other things that had ever been brought to him by fortune.  
And that beautiful belt, graven with the symbols of his heritage, needed two hands to hold for a completely different reason than reverence or weight: Puma's Underground Championship Belt... couldn't be put together again.

 _"Where_ _ **was**_ _Johnny?"_

Little could anyone in that temple know that, at that same moment, pretty much that same thought was doing donuts in the proverbial parking lot of Johnny Mundo's mind. For the last few hours, in fact. Though, not phrased in the third person. He might've been a ham on stage, but he wasn't all that stuck on himself off it.

"Darn, stupid, armor plated- who designed this piece of trash?!" He said, out loud, while attempting to smash a sneaker clad foot through a bullet proof window for perhaps the twenty-fifth time in... How long had it been?  
Felt like about the time Puma's match was scheduled to start, but it was hard to tell the hour when you were stuck in the back of an off duty armored truck.

They must have been watching him for days to know his routine as well as it seemed they did. To catch him off guard the way they did.

One of Johnny's favorite ways to get to work was by way of the... bohemian skyline. Long before dusk stuck its roots deep into the bluey gray of Boyle Height's sky, he'd leave his apartment and start off slow. Warming up was always the safe bet. Didn't wanna pull anything on the _way_ to work, after all.  
He left through the front door, because as fun as leaving through the third story window was, leaving it unlocked everyday was a great way to have your place burgled.  
He'd jog the first half mile, or until his muscles told him they were warmed up and raring to bring on the tough stuff, then he'd start hopping over, around, through, and under walls, trees, cars, and all kinds of things you wouldn't figure people should be _allowed_ to. Let alone **able** to!

This day though, someone had been waiting for him. Right out of sight, in the relative shade of a breezeway between buildings, less than a quarter mile from his place of rest. Maybe it was more than one somebodies, it was hard to tell in all the commotion. Regardless, they managed to get the drop on him.  
As he passed up the little alley, a pair of arms whipped out, stuffed a sack over his head, kicked his knees out from under him and, using Luchador like strength, stuffed him in the back of what felt like a metal box. A big one.

He'd yanked the sack off his head too late to see who it'd been, but he saw the back door shut and heard the sickening sound of multiple locking modalities clunking into place before he could drag himself up and bust it back open.

They definitely hadn't stuck him in the back of an ambulance, he realized, after he'd tired his shoulder out on the back door. The whole thing was windowless except for one observation window which was probably too small for him to fit through and definitely built to remain unbroken, which showed him just enough of the front cab to drive him mad. Freedom was just on the other side of this single pane of glass, yet unreachable for the toughness of it.

Johnny spent an hour or so feeling around in the gloom of his prison, searching for anything which might help him outta there. All to no avail. Although, he _did_ manage to get himself a couple'a nice scratches on the corners of some sharp shelving units.  
At least they hadn't gotten him in the face. Or the back of the head. Yowza.

By the end of hour two, he'd stopped rechecking his pockets for his cellphone, finally resigned to the reality that whoever'd thrown him in here and swallowed the key must've lifted it off him at the same time. Just how premeditated _was_ this setup?!  
He'd also decided that, since he couldn't fit through that stupid little window anyway, he'd definitely stop trying to break its ugly face in. Yep.  
That decision had been doubled back on pretty soon. Seeing as it was one of the only low-ish risk ways to take out his frustrations in that metal deathtrap.  
He was glad that the vehicle seemed to be parked in that same alley, otherwise he'd probably be getting an all expenses paid sauna experience. Until the sun was well down. He wasn't a big fan of metal deathtrap hotbox experiences.  
Not that he'd been treated to one before, but a person generally has an intuition about what they will or won't like. Judging on how likely it was to cause pain, injury, or death, at least. Most creatures didn't like the prospect of death.  
Johnny Mundo was no exception. Unlike some creatures though, he also had somewhere he desperately wanted- _needed_ to be, and not only for his own safety, but for the sake of a... friend.

He'd been keeping himself busy, trying not to think about it, but he'd told Puma- _promised_ the Prince that he'd be sitting ringside for his match against Cage The Machine. He'd made sure to wear inconspicuous civvies and a baseball cap so no one in the audience would be the wiser. Unless it'd become necessary, of course. He had no intention of stepping in unless Cage pulled something along the lines of what he'd done the last time. He'd nearly- Puma'd been in bad shape after that ordeal.

The only good thing to come of it, was that Johnny and he had spent more time around each other the following few days. Johnny helping Puma reach things in the top of his locker when it looked like the stretch would be painful, and Puma showing him some wicked places to cat nap. He never knew there could be so many, relatively clean crawl spaces hidden around a temple. Especially not ones he could squeeze himself into.

A mental picture from the day before hit him almost as hard as he'd been hitting that stupid bullet proof window: His friend, Puma, looking at him, worry written clearly in those big eyes of his.  
Worry over his upcoming match against the fighter who'd nearly sent him to the hospital utilizing illegally cheap tactics.  
Puma hadn't said much about it since the day, but Johnny could tell there was more than just hate and determination in the look his buddy gave whenever he was within earshot when someone mentioned the name Cage.

The conversation kept repeating in his head, all through hour three:

"Hey, Puma," Johnny greeted, walking into the training room, where he knew the champ would be, preparing for tomorrow's main event.

 _"Hi, J,"_ Puma signed, having worked out a shorthand or nickname for informal situations, like now.

"Psyched for the fight?" He got a strong nod in answer, but in that moment he became certain, beyond any reasonable doubt, that Puma was frightened.  
They both knew that if Puma didn't win this fight... knowing Cueto's sadistic love of violence, he'd definitely be matched against Cage again. Regardless as to wins or losses though: Dario'd want to see them in an official Title Bout as soon as possible.  
The prospect of multiple solo matches in a row against a mountain- a _machine_ like Cage? Johnny wouldn't be surprised if Puma'd been having nightmares. That is, if he'd been sleeping to begin with. He _was_ looking a bit drawn...

Johnny couldn't let this go on any longer. He'd wanted to put a stopper in it days earlier, but there are some places you really shouldn't stick your nose and it can get hard to tell exactly where those places are.  
"Tell ya what: I'll be there," strong opening! Got his attention right quick. "I'll be sitting ringside. Promise."  
Puma's face lit up and all traces of anger and fear bled out of his stance, primed near the heavy bag he'd been staring at when Johnny walked up.  
"I'll have a front row seat so when you kick that gigantor's teeth out, I can pick them off the floor and make 'em into a necklace! He won't know what hit him."

Puma, looking conflicted for all of two seconds, pulled himself around to face Johnny fully and went in for a submission hold.  
Or, wait. That was a _hug_. Oh my G- Johnny's higher thought processes clicked off and were replaced with several heavy rock and roll songs, playing all synced up at discordant, high volumes. All trying to block out the overwhelming rush of emotions and physical sensations that that seemingly simple gesture had caused in him.  
No one had hugged Johnny Mundo, agenda free, in... years perhaps. **Years**... If he didn't count that awkward family reunion.

Whatever the lapsed time, it'd been long enough ago that Johnny didn't remember the proper response.  
Cut and run? Ole switcheroo? Chair to the spine? Grab a hanky and sob?  
Nope, none of those. But, after a moment of stillness, instinct took over and he found himself relaxing into a pair of strong Puma arms.  
Johnny's arms inched their way up from their akimbo pose on his own hips, and returned the gesture in kind. With just as much fondness, and a dash more tenderness. He couldn't help still feeling wary about the faded bruises all along Puma's back, and he'd kick himself if he gave his friend a valid reason to pull away and never hug him again. It was... too nice a thing to spoil.

It didn't last long, but it was sweet and neither of them were quite sure why it'd happened, so they shuffled their feet and admired the gym equipment for a moment or two before looking each other in the eye again.  
When they plucked up the courage and met gazes, they were both happy to see that nothing had changed. They looked at one another with the same closeness and camaraderie as had grown to be expected.

"Uh... Juice break?" Was the first thing that made any sense that came to Johnny Mundo's mind.

Puma made a face and stuck out his tongue in a show of distaste.

"Fine. Milk break?" Being met with a pleased, _"I have taught you well,"_ kinda expression, he grinned and bowed, indicating the direction leading to the cantina. "After you, my Prince."

Puma reached out and ruffled Johnny's hair, since Johnny hated having his hair mussed, then grabbed an arm and pulled Mundo after him toward their tasty, respective choices of drink.

Johnny shook his head and looked around the now _dark_ bowels of the man made beast that'd swallowed him and given him no chance for escape. He was sure- pretty sure- No.  
He was _certain_ that Puma's match was starting or had already started... Without him. He was also pretty sure that someone else had taken his seat(because who wouldn't jump at an open front row seat?), which might make it a little less obvious that he wasn't there, but still...  
He'd let Puma down.

The sudden reflected flashing of blue and red lights yanked him from his quandary. The po-po! Eh, the _police_! Friend or foe? He figured he better appear as non threatening as his six foot plus, bodybuilder frame would allow, and speak his peace that way as well.

He could barely hear two car doors shut and voices, muffled through several inches of reinforced armor plating, approaching. It probably was smartest to situate himself smack dab in the middle of the hold, and maybe he should let them know he was back here.  
Come to think of it, they might not even check the cargo unless he made some noise!

"Help! I'm locked in the back!" He heard loudest, his own trapped voice reverberating around in the small echo chamber, then quieter, the sound of... laughter?  
Were police officers **laughing** at his misfortu- well... He supposed it must've been pretty funny from an outside perspective.  
Too bad Johnny wasn't _outside_ to enjoy it.

Someone knocked on the outside of the triple locked door. Johnny's heart skipped a beat, even though he'd been expecting something like that.

"You're stuck in here?"

"Yes! For hours!"

"Alright. Hold on. We're calling the security company for instructions."

"Thank you!" You, you... ou... u... The reverb was awesome in there. How had he not noticed until now? One of the great mysteries of life.  
A mystery, such as: How was Prince Puma faring in his first official fight against the Machine called Cage?

Johnny counted himself among the lucky when it turned out officers Peterson and Santana weren't looking to collar a criminal this evening. Just looking for a "missing" armored truck who's lo-jack had finally stopped throwing fits and turned itself on for the company who was wanting it back, "In good condition, please."

Seemingly competent people, the officers managed to open all three locks in a timely manner and without need for a blow torch and the jaws of life. Mundo only got a little scuffed up when they shoved him against the alley wall to frisk him. When he put up no resistance and turned out to _actually_ not have any hidden weapons or drugs on him though, they put down they're reservations and listened, quite entertained, to how he'd gotten himself triple locked inside a security vehicle which only locked and unlocked from the outside.  
They started believing him when Santana shone a flashlight inside the bullet proof hold and illuminated a black sack, just like the one in the suspect's unlikely story. Besides, "That thing's way too small to steal much of anything with!"

"Brother, you're either the worst thief ever, or one unlucky sonnofa."

"I don't know, Peterson. If he's that bad, how'd he steal the truck in the first place?"

"Maybe it was a mistake of opportunity? Just saw it sitting there, open and unguarded."

"Then how'd he get locked in?"

"Pft! The wind did it!"

"Yeah," Santana looked over at Johnny's pinched face and spoke the first reassuring words the Luchador had heard in hours, "I think it's a lot more likely he's telling the truth." He turned back to his partner and added, "Besides, my kids've told me all about Johnny Mundo and Lucha Underground. Why Paco lets them watch that kind of TV I'll never understand," he lamented, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"I warned you it'd be like that if you married a wrestling fan. They put the love of the sport in the minds of the _youth_ first, then it's on to the adults," Peterson nodded to himself, proud of his prescient wisdom.

"Well, it's helping out _this_ guy tonight, so it's not all bad. They're really cute in their little Lion Lucha masks too. Great family album material."

"They're Prince Puma fans?" Asked an incredulous Johnny Mundo.

"Yeah, that's the name! It's hard to keep them off the backs of the furniture though..." Santana scratched the back of his head and handed the Luchador and state issued IDs over to Peterson, who scrutinized them while shining Johnny with a flashlight. In the face.

"Yep, I believe him now. Lemme run this through the database real quick and let the security techs know that the van's in one piece."

"Roger," said Santana, nodding at Peterson, then turning to Johnny Mundo. "So, a little birdie told me that there's a 'famous _friendship_ ' going on in the... Lucha Temple. Care to comment? Off the record." Was that a twinkle in his eye? Or were his eyes just naturally jolly?

Regardless as to alleged twinkling, the cop seemed genuinely interested. Almost invested. Weird. And- hey, wait a second! He'd emphasized that sentence in an intentional way! What was he getting at?

"Officer?" Johnny queried, totally not distracted by the crackle and pop shrillness of Officer Peterson talking to people over the car radio.

"Well, this little birdie told me that world renowned Luchador Johnny Mundo and World Champion Prince Puma have had an on again off again friendship, against the odds, and against others' advice, for some time now."

Johnny, hoping the worry wasn't roiling off of him, wasn't up to giving a press worthy smile nor answer.  
Every minute spent explaining himself to the cops was another minute keeping him from getting to that fight, and being there for his friend. He couldn't stand the thought that the difference between Puma smiling, raising a fist high in proud victory, and a Puma bloodied and beaten, could be as simple as him sitting ringside, keeping a watchful eye.  
Seeing Puma, unconscious, slow that night to regain his fine motor controls, and then in pain for days had not been fun. Not in _any_ way. Johnny desperately wanted there not to be a repeat.

"Um, yeah. We're friends, and," he hesitated a moment. Not sure whether this was the kind of thing an officer of the law was supposed to care about. "I really need to get to the Temple, as soon as possible..."

"Oh, that's right! My kids mentioned something about there being a big fight for Prince Puma tonight," then, under his breath, "Man, Paco's not gonna believe this one." He turned to check on his partner who was still making with the police business over by the car. Sort of half in half out by then.  
"We're almost done here. Just gonna need an official statement, signed by you, aaand..." He met Peterson's eyes through the windshield of the squad car -a relative feet, considering how darkly tinted it was and how long ago the sun had called it a night-, and got a nod for his troubles. "You'll be free to go."

Johnny felt relief ripple through him, nearly bucking the worry which was slowly boiling itself over into dread. The biggest lump of which, sitting like a stone somewhere between his heart and his gut.

Alright officer, what do you need from me?"

"Well, you promise not to skip town?"

"I have a contract to stay on at the Temple for-"

"Alright. You will keep yourself available for further questioning if such becomes necessary?"

"Yes."

"Well then, long as you sign that you agree to those, and several other, terms; you'll be home free. I'll bet you don't wanna miss that match tonight, huh? The Machine versus Prince Puma." Santana scratched his head with the pen he'd been using to fill in something on the pad he'd whipped out not long before, no doubt in response to Johnny's grim tone.  
"You thinking the champ might..."

Johnny was surprised by the delicate delivery of that question. And the trail off, which he gave plenty of time to get itself filled in.  
With a similar level of delicateness, he answered. "I promised I'd be there."

He must have imbued the statement with a nice helping of emotion, because he noticed, in the partial light the headlights afforded, Santana take on a slight sunburn. Right around the apple of his cheeks and down the sides of his neck.

"Sounds like you need to be there, alright. And a friendship like the one I'm sensing between you and your Luchador is special. Adversity has a way of bringing people closer, as long as they're there for each other." He flipped his notepad over so Johnny could see the words printed and scrawled all across it. The words which spelled freedom. Not literally though. There were a lot of legal words on that chit.  
Took a bit to read the whole thing, and once he had, he thrust out a hand for the pen.

"I don't know about that, Officer. But I _do_ know that I'm late, for a very important date." With destiny.

Peterson cleared his throat from much closer by than expected, almost making Johnny jump. When they turned to the newly unbusy officer, he looked uneasy or perhaps somewhat unnerved. Almost the look one might have if they'd just overheard an intimate conversation and had no way to _unhear_ it.

"Well Mr. Mundo, I wish you luck in all your endeavors. Your," his face made a little bit of a face, as if he couldn't wrap his head around the wording of the rest of his sentence, "friend sounds important to you. I hope you arrive in time for the match."

Johnny gave a nod, his lips set in a line. Knowing, just by how long it felt like he'd been stuck in that horrible van, it's gaping maw still taunting him in the brightness of squad car hi beams, and the time requisite to square things up with the responding officers, that Puma's match was over. That, or it was going long. Regardless; he'd still arrive after it was done and he'd have absolutely no chance to be useful. Not even as a friendly face in the crowd.  
The line of his mouth grew taughter and he felt a warmth to his eyes which he hadn't been expecting.

"We'd love to offer you a ride, except that this missing van needs a security detail until the company comes and collects it," Peterson sounded more perturbed than ever. Maybe he thought Mundo was gonna cry?

"Naw," Johnny shook his head. "Thanks, but sometimes traffic..." He made a vague gesture towards the clear, vehicle free street outside the alley. "Sometimes you get there faster on foot," and he capped it off with as much of his award winning smile as he could muster. Almost even flashed his pearly whites.  
He wasn't lying though. It was sometimes considerably faster on foot. This particular street just didn't get all that much traffic these hours, no matter the day.

"Alright then. You stay safe, and wish the champ luck from us too," said Santana, with Peterson nodding along and handing Johnny back his IDs.  
Then Santana leaned in toward his partner and said, under his breath, "Paco's never gonna believe _this_."

Peterson chuckled.

They both waved as Johnny started off for work for the second time in one day. Him settling in for a run and them settling in for a wait.

"Cute." Mundo thought he heard as he slipped around the corner, out onto the open sidewalk and into the open air.  
He needed to warm up all over again.

If he ever found that sick... termite what threw him in the back of that- Probably shouldn't dwell on far flung wishes. Keep your head in the game; left, right, left, right, left, right, left~ The Temple wasn't that far, if he pushed the pace...

He paused just long enough to bring his heart down a good 20 bpms while he sipped from a fountain in the middle of a park he usually cut through on his way.  
After the well deserved rehydration -being stuck for hours in a van from which you very much wished to escape gave you a powerful thirst, it turned out-, it was a straight shot, almost, to the Temple.  
When he came within a long LA block of the place, he got a good look at what appeared to be the entire audience filing out and loading themselves into cars and waiting busses. It must have been even later than he'd thought. Dang it! He _needed_ to know how things had played out, and in this situation, a quick reconnaissance seemed the most expedient route.

At this point, it really mattered zero percent whether anyone recognized him, but he was already dressed the part, so why not play it? He figured he oughtn't let the work go to waste.  
And, come to think of it, someone might want an autograph if they recognized him. Incognito was safer.

He jogged up to a small group who were chatting amongst themselves by a minivan. He waved in good natured greeting to get their attentions, and came to a stop a polite distance from them.

"Hey. Did I miss the whole thing?" They nodded in synchronicity. "Even the main event? Darn public transportation!" He slapped his thigh in a show of disappointment. In reality, he'd already known it was over. Why else would _everyone_ be leaving? When there wasn't obviously a fire.  
"I really wanted to catch that bout. Who won? Prince Puma?" He asked, trying for disappointed excitement.

"Yeah, Prince Puma won," spoke up a cute, button nosed child of kindergarten-ish age, "but he's belt got busted... By the Cage-Man-Machine." The barely-not-toddler looked up at who must have been an older sibling, bottom lip quivering, and beseeched, "He looked real sad, didn' he, Jessica?"

Jessica nodded, rubbing a forearm across her nose and looking overall... kinda sad. "Yup. I cried a little."

"An' he's daddy got hurt too! He couldn't stand up!"

"Shh, mija. It's ok. Todo es bueno. Prince Puma and Konnan are gonna be fine. Then they'll come back and kick Cage's butt. You'll see!" Said the one who must've been a parent. Considering they called her their daughter.

"But he looked so sad! An' the anbulance took them awaaaay!" And then the wailing started.  
The family gave Johnny their sympathies for missing the show, wished him luck in arriving on time for the next one, and bundled themselves and the bereft not-baby into the trusty mini.  
They waved and tooted the horn as they drove out of the busy parking lot.

He **needed** to know how things had played out. Maybe he could track down Striker or Vampiro? Neither of them had any reason to not tell him exactly what had happened. Although, Vampiro didn't seem to like him, so Striker was a better bet.

As bad as the little kid had made it sound, he still never would have guessed what'd gone down. His imagination wasn't too shabby, but sometimes; reality has a way of being worse than one expects.

Where _was_ Johnny, indeed.

Puma scanned the crowd, up to five rows from the front. Turning himself on his knees to search every corner of the underlit Temple, clutching the two halves of his Championship belt tight as he could, barely noticing Konnan having the blood mopped off his face by medic's on the other side of the ring.  
The booing also sort of just rolled off his shaky consciousness. It wasn't directed at him nor his trainer anyway.

His eyes began re-searching the darker parts of the crowd, where it was harder to make out faces. By the time he'd started looking up to the mezzanine level, he was already sure-No. He'd _been_ sure from the time the end bell had been rung. He just didn't want to- _couldn't_ admit to himself that his -should he call him this?- friend... wasn't there.

Puma felt someone stomping over the mat towards him, but seeing as it was crawling with medical personnel and officiators, it was just a matter of time really. He let that too sorta bounce of his faulty receptors, and closed his eyes against the disappointments that had been this fight... and his friend.

A hand the size of a small dog grabbed him by the face. With his eyes closed he'd had no warning and no chance to guard against it.  
Puma felt it squeeze, feeling like the person attached to it was behind him, then it yanked back and down. His head hit the mat and was prevented from bouncing by the same hand pressing down **hard**.

Before he could collect his wits enough to fight back, he felt a boot come down on his throat. It dug in painfully as the hand left his face to swipe at the Championship belt. Well, half of it anyway.

Puma dug into a surge of reserve power he didn't know he had and brought a wild knee up, hard as he could. It connected with something that felt like an impossibly hard pectoral, or maybe a flexed bicep, and rocked the attacker enough to shift their balance just a hair. Unfortunately, it shifted _onto_ the leg connected to the foot which was now well on its way to crushing his windpipe.  
He tried for another wild knee, which was summarily blocked, and received a fist to the solar plexus in recompense.

The hard shot coupled with the inability to **breathe** caused his body to lose all fight right quick. And so the Championship belt passed from his weakened grip into that of the Machine known as Cage's.

"Thanks for this. It'll be mine soon, anyway."

Puma realized that more than one ref was shouting at Cage to, "Get off of him, the fight is over!", he's pretty sure Senior Official Marty Elias even tried to shove him off, but it was hard to tell through the tears welling in his eyes. And the grainy blue creeping in from the corners of his vision.

" _I'm_ winning next time, Cub," said Cage, lifting his boot with a slow deliberation which drove the refs crazy. Puma was just glad to find his windpipe still functional, pulling a hacking breath and rolling to his side as soon as he was free.

 _The belt!_

Puma dragged his head off the mat, blinking away tears that were now soaking into his mask, and got his bearings in time to witness Cage slinging the two halves of **his** Championship belt over his neck and swaggering off the ring.  
All after he'd spit on it too.

Puma realized that not all of his tears were an involuntary reaction to the physical abuse. His throat felt tight and raw for more than just the most obvious reason.

"Puma!" He whipped around, quick as he could after that beating, and locked eyes with an EMT he hadn't even thought to look for this evening. "Are you- Can you breath alright?" Gabby appeared distraught.

Puma brought a hand up to explore his throat, ginger fingers finding unhappy skin and muscles. He nodded so as not to freak out his attending medic. She was sort of his friend, after all.

"Good. How many fingers am I holdi- Good," she said with obvious relief, in response to him holding up the same number. "You seem okay."  
She glanced behind herself, then stepped closer and squatted beside the Prince. "We're giving Konnan a lift to el hospital. Wanna ride along? We know he's your trainer and all."

Puma nodded and accepted the hand Gabby offered to help him to his feet. Or close to them. His middle was aching big time from the unprotected punch he'd taken little more than moments ago.

He dropped to one knee when they got close to his mentor, seeing as how they were still trying to stop the bleeding and didn't look like they planned on leaving until they did.  
Konnan, who was kind of out of it, kept staring off into the middle distance.

The other two medics looked up and couldn't decide whether to smile or grimace in greeting. Puma felt the same.

Since Clara and Federico had Konnan covered, Gabby started examining the worst bruises visible on Puma's bare upper body and handed him a fresh cracked ice pack for his stomach.

As soon as the bleeding slowed, Konnan was set on a wheeled stretcher by the side of the ring, and the medical entourage, plus Prince Puma, secured safe passage out of the Temple and into the back of the waiting ambulance.

Federico showed Puma where to sit while Clara and Gabby secured Konnan and the stretcher.  
He clipped a seat belt in place around their non emergency rider and was surprised out of his professionalism when one of his gloves came away wet.  
At a double take, he recognized the wetness as a drop of... saline? Oh! A tear!

"Hey, hey, Puma? Champ. What's wrong?" Federico was worried less as a physician and more as an acquaintance/almost friend, but he still gave the Luchador a visual once over. To be on the safe side, he made eye contact with Gabby, who indicated that nothing had showed up earlier.  
At Puma's head shake, Federico grasped at the first thought to flit through his rather flustered mind. "Where's The Fighter? Eh, Johnny- where's Johnny? He can ride with us too."

"Yeah, where _is_ the Tall Man?" Asked Clara, with what seemed like more than the usual level of tact.

Puma's hands shook as he looked the three of them in the eyes and signed, _"Not. Here."_

Even though Clara and Gabby weren't sure what those signs meant, they got the message from his eyes and body language before Federico translated.

"Oh, hermanito! Deme un abrazo." Gabby gave him a hug, which miraculously didn't hurt. Puma figured she must have magic EMT powers, especially to pull off the maneuver with him buckled to a wall.

"You want me to... no, that's not legal. I can yell at him for ya?" Clara offered, busting open a pack of gauze and handing the wad to him.  
Puma took it with a questioning look, so the one who'd passed it over indicated his eyes. He looked rather aghast at the suggestion, but dabbed at his face anyway.  
Then shook his head, declining Clara's generous offer.

"Well," it looked to Federico as if everything was in the hands best suited to the jobs, so he climbed up into the drivers seat, "we're off folks. Next stop: El hospital."

With that, they were off.  
Because they'd beaten the crowds of faithful out of the Temple, their was no need for lights nor sirens, and so their departure went unheralded.

The short ride to the hospital was uneventful and inauspicious.

The ambulance pulled up to the "slightly less than emergency" entrance at the same time that Johnny walked through the Temple's back entrance, flashing his Luchador ID to gain admittance. After that, it took him a minute, two tops, to track down exactly who he'd wanted to see.

"Cage went berserk. No one could've stopped him; Marty nearly got smashed stepping in. It was a real mess," Striker sighed, then took another draft from his water bottle. "Vamp and I were just glad they turned off the cameras before..."

"Before?" Johnny wasn't interested in ominous obfuscations after such a long evening.

"Uh, yeah." Matt rubbed the water bottle between his hands hard enough that it made a pathetic crinkling sound. That bad huh? "Before Cage came back and, uh, _took_ the Championship belt. From Puma. After stepping on him. In the throat."  
He was rambling, but Johnny'd low key implied that something bad might happen if he didn't spill on the details and now, if you please. More with his face than his words though. He liked Matt, and besides the mutual respect they had for each other; They both knew that Matt wasn't called "Striker" for nothing.

Johnny shook himself from the mental images of what it sounded like had happened. He then thanked Matt and, knowing Cage had already done the same, made for the door and started on home.

He jogged the whole way, knowing on instinct that he was far too distracted for any parkour to be a good idea. Besides: it'd been dark for some time now.

When he passed the alley in which he'd spent some quality alone time earlier, he saw the officers were gone and the security vehicle was either collected by the company(most likely), or stolen again(far less likely).

He was thankful no one was waiting for him this time. Being bushwhacked was no fun. Neither were bushwhackers. Stay in school kids.  
And don't become bushwhackers.

Safely back in his apartment, Johnny spent a while in the shower, counting his lucky stars that he had been found by the authorities when he had. Spending the night in that death trap would have been tantamount to torture. Especially considering he'd really needed to use the restroom when he got home.  
He'd also enjoyed having access to food. And his toothbrush.

He'd have to thank Matt Striker again, next time he saw him. Because, the prospect of not knowing what had happened from someone who'd seen it themselves, made those other things seem almost... trivial. Still tortuous! But also definitely trivial.  
Suffering of the soul being everlasting while suffering of the flesh is finite? Something like that.

Anyway, his fleshly suffering over and done with, he laid himself down for a nice, relaxing, not getting up before noon, kind of sleep. Yep. He closed his eyes with no intention of opening them for anything, until the sun shone in his window and threatened to burn them off if he didn't.  
Yep. Sleep of the dead coming up people. Like a log. A six foot something, two hundred pound- that's actually really light for a log that size-, disappointment of a log.  
Wait. What?

Mmhm. Johnny was a disappointment. No matter whether judged as a log or a fri- an _absent_ friend.  
Because he and his restless subconscious both knew that if he'd only _been_ there, things would have turned out differently.  
The worst of his "stuck in an armored van" imaginings had been close to what had actually gone down, and that rather frightened him.

He knew, and he knew that Puma knew, that with unchecked violence like that displayed in and around that bout this evening: Dario Cueto would have an absolute **need** to match Prince Puma and the Machine known as Cage again. As soon as possible.  
The guy was weird like that.

Johnny Mundo gave sleep one more try, but even when he kicked his subconscious in the teeth and put it in a submission hold, it wouldn't shut up. Although, it did start whimpering and calling uncle.  
Johnny wasn't quite sure who this "uncle" was, considering neither of them _liked_ any of their potentially uncle like paternal figures.  
He knew this because his subconscious hadn't shut up for days after the last family reunion about how Johnny, "better not mature into someone like them!"

Okay! This was getting weird!

And so, Johnny admitted defeat and rolled out of bed. Deciding that logging onto "the Internet" and asking it, "what to do when someone steals your phone," would be a much better way to ignore the real problems here than laying in bed and counting the sound of cars passing the apartment.  
That wasn't much fun anyway.

If only he knew how things had gone with Puma and Konnan. After all; a hospital visit is usually serious business in this line of work.

Puma sat huddled in a low stool, in a corner, so as not to disturb the on call who was stitching his trainer's forehead.  
He kept one eye on Konnan, to make sure he was okay, and the other he let stare at the floor in a rather dejected fashion. He didn't even worry about the serious case of lazy eye he might end up giving himself. He didn't _feel_ like caring.

The dynamic EMT trio had done as much as they could, without pushing harder than they felt was warranted at this stage in their professional slash friendly relationship with the Luchador, to raise Puma's spirits, to little avail.

"At least he stopped crying," Puma heard Clara say, as they went their separate ways for the night. They _were_ off the clock, after all, and Puma wasn't about to leave Konnan alone.

"Hey, Puma, baby?" Puma's attention snapped to Konnan at the first words his trainer had spoken since the Championship belt had been removed from the ring. He vaguely noticed the attending's pleased expression at the patient finally showing some real presence of mind. But mostly Puma just nodded at Konnan.  
"You can come back from this just fine. We'll train you with Cage in mind, specifically." Konnan took a second to look at the person who was putting fine gauge stitches in his head. Then he refocused on his Luchador.  
"I don't mean to rub it in, but I been tellin' you for months: You can't trust nobody in this business. Not Cage, not your opponent, and not Johnny Mundo." Puma's eyes went wide as Konnan hit every nail on the head.  
"I know you were expecting your friend to be there, to cheer you on an' all, but like Vamp and I been sayin' since day one at the Temple: Johnny Mundo's always been in it for número uno. He's not gonna change that for nobody."

The attending caught Konnan's attention long enough to explain to someone who obviously already knew all about it, how to care for their wound in the following days, and get a curt nod in answer to the question, "Are you feeling alright, Sir?" Got another from Konnan indicating that, yes; he was just gonna recline there like he was supposed to for the next while then, satisfied nothing deadly was gonna take place, the attending finished up and went to get started on the next not quite emergency.

The attendant gone and a nice bandage covering his shiny new stitches, Konnan settled some and looked to the corner and his curled up pupil.  
He hadn't been expecting the sight of Prince Puma, the successful Lucha Underground Defending Champion, dabbing at his own eyes with a soggy wad of medical gauze. Swiping at his nose with a look of utter defeat showing through the mask as plain as day.  
Maybe he shouldn't have brought up Mundo? Naw, the kid needed to learn this lesson early. Before something _really_ bad could happen to him because of his open, trusting ways.

"Ay, chico. What am I gonna do with you?" He said, shaking his head. "Come 'ere." He patted the space right next to him on the funky hospital bed.

Puma looked at Konnan in confusion for a full five seconds, before he dragged his battered body off the stool and shambled over to the bed.

"C'mon, get up here," Konnan patted the space again.  
Puma glanced out the door, at the empty hallway beyond, and gritted his teeth. Live while you're young!  
"That's it, I got you." Konnan kept a hand on Puma's near shoulder, so the shaky Luchador couldn't possibly trip himself up and land on the floor instead.  
Once Puma was seated on the bed, Konnan drew the one he considered a kid into his arms and hugged him.

Puma figured Konnan must have had magical trainer powers, because the hug caused his body no pain. At the same time, it pushed his psyche over the ledge it had been perched and teetering over for the last... it felt like too long. He hugged the veteran back and tried to hold in the oncoming sobs.  
Tears crawled over and out from under Puma's mask and dripped into the older man's shirt. The ones that the mask didn't soak up at least.

"Let it out, it's good to not hold back. Not in the ring and not out of it. Órale." It was some of the softest Puma had heard his trainer speak, and it made his breath hitch on the way in. He tightened his hold around the man with the shiny new stitches as much as he dared, and he held on like it was his best bet to see the rise of a new day.

Konnan, unafraid of a little salt water nor so fond of his shirt to begrudge it's shoulder a potential light coating of snot, let the champ express his frustrations and disappointments in the healthiest way available to them this night.  
Embarrassment wasn't a high priority concern for either of them. Still, they weren't likely to be disturbed, considering Puma was nearly silent in his mourning.  
What _exactly_ was being mourned, Konnan wasn't sure. But having been in the business and around fighters, and indeed having been one himself, he had a pretty good idea as to what it _could_ be.  
He also had a pretty good idea as to just how much more contempt he should feel for Cage after this grand spectacle of devastation.  
Come to think of it, if he came face to face with Johnny Mundo in the coming weeks, he'd probably have some new contempt to show him as well.

As Puma's breathing began to even out and his arms began to slack, Konnan shimmied a pillow up behind the Luchador's shoulders and masked head. Puma was out of it enough that he didn't notice and within minutes, his tear reserves had dried up and he was deep asleep.

"Como un bebe; out for the count." Since he'd been told to stay put, Konnan disentangled his arms entirely and relaxed into his own pillowless chunk of bed. Not begrudging the champ the additional comfort after the match and post match and post post match he'd been through.  
Besides, Konnan had had to go without a pillow for worse reasons more times than he cared to count. At least now, he knew it was a worthy cause.  
Yep. It was definitely worth that look of unperturbed rest on his protege's- on Prince Pumas's face.  
He hoped, while searching his pupil's expression, and with a dark feeling in his chest, that Cage was having an exponentially worse night than he was.

Though not perhaps accurate, Konnan's hope wasn't quite off the mark either.

Cage had cursed his rotten luck all the way home, his loss in the ring all but forgotten over the hefty parking ticket he'd incurred outside the Temple. Almost.  
Next time he'd have to get someone to put coins in the antiquated meter _for_ him until six post meridian. If that was the cut off anyway. Stupid enforced parking!

The next morning, he woke with the mother of all neck aches as well as a plethora of small bruises. Both directly or indirectly, compliments of the puny Puma.  
Who knew sleeping with a stolen Championship belt under your pillow could mess you up that bad? Ouch.

Over in the non Cage neck of the woods, Johnny woke with his face stuck to his dining table and his poor laptop drained of power. At least he knew how to keep the same phone number now.  
Johnny Mundo, thank you Yahoo! question and answer boards, had a new "internet phone" and the same phone number, all by noon.  
Feeling as if it was the least he could do, he grabbed enough take out lunch for two and made his way, hampered by the bag of food, to the Temple.

He didn't see Puma in the gym that day. Nor in the cantina, nor anywhere in the Temple.  
He ate the extra lunch for dinner instead and hoped Puma wasn't stuck in the hospital along with Konnan.  
He hoped he'd get the chance to explain and to apologize to Puma before his conscience began to eat _him_ for lunch.

He really didn't want to lose that friendship on account of that stupid metal death trap.

Too bad Puma didn't know any of that.

 **Hope ya'll enjoyed the update as much as I enjoyed writing it!**  
 **Hope everyone has a great week and, just in case folks were wondering: Chapter three should be up soon! :D**


	3. Puma's Fear

Puma had the pleasure of preparing for his next Cage match on his own. For half the week anyway, as Konnan needed the time to heal.

Puma'd stayed away from anything that'd strain his throat or neck the first day and was glad the boot hadn't left much to any visible mark. The less to explain the better for him.  
... The less there was catching his eyes in the mirror the better too. He needed no reminder of how upside down that victory had gone.

One thing he couldn't figure out about his modified regimen the first day after the fight, was why it included "avoiding Johnny Mundo at all costs".  
Johnny hadn't been the one who tore up, spit on, and stole the Championship belt... So why did it feel like he was.  
Why did seeing him fill Puma with all the same emotions he'd practically drenched his trainer letting out the night before.  
And, oh, it'd been mortifying to wake up hours later, his head slumped against Konnan's shoulder, with **one** hospital blanket draped over the _two_ of them. Someone must have thought they were related.  
He was just glad no one said anything about it. Not even Konnan, when next he'd been up to talking.

Puma'd arrived at the Temple only minutes before noon, taken a milk break, and got to business skipping rope in the gym.  
It was a slow day in there. He saw only Drago for the first thirty or so minutes and had taken a breather to exchange pleasantries.

 _"Morning Puma."_

 _"Noon is morning for you?"_

 _"It is for all the cool kids. Get with the program, man!"_

Puma brought both his hands up near his mouth, fingers configured into the shape of Ls, and pulled them away while bouncing them. Along with a smile, it let Drago know he was laughing at him. Or with him, or whatever. Basically Drago had a funny sense of humor, and he was nearly fluent in American Sign Language, which made shooting the breeze with him especially refreshing.

Puma'd asked Drago once why it was that the scaled Luchador chose to speak ASL and not so much American English.

Drago had made some very colorful gestures which Puma wasn't sure how to interpret, and gone on to explain that human languages were difficult to squeeze out a throat which was designed mainly for roaring and breathing fire.

Puma got that, so he clapped Drago on the shoulder and let the dude go back to eating the rat he'd finally managed to rid the Temple of. Puma taking another gulp from his milk box and musing that Dario'd never need to hire an exterminator as long as Drago was around.

After chuckling roughly in response to Puma's laugh, Drago gave him a fist bump and moseyed over to pummel a heavy bag. For an hour straight.

Ay, that Drago. Puma smiled privately and shook his head in amusement, turning back to his speed rope.  
Before Puma could pick up where he'd left off, he heard steps right outside the gym. He recognized the gait as that belonging to his- to the fighter known as Johnny Mundo.  
Without thinking, Prince Puma gripped his speed rope in one hand and dove behind the practice ring which took up a majority of the open space, quiet as a cat.

"Hey Drago," Drago turned and waved in greeting as Johnny entered the room. "What's so funny? I heard you laughing. Didn't know you did that."

"Yo no se," the reborn dragon ground out, in a voice which sounded almost painful to wield. Inadvertently proving to one or two especially observant Luchadores, that he respected or perhaps even liked Johnny Mundo.  
Drago was extremely sparing with his vocalizations. When they weren't guttural growlings anyway, and some speculated that he wasn't even aware of those half the time.

"You don't know. How can you not know? _You_ were the one laughing!" Johnny slapped one of his own knees with his free hand and tried not to snort at that reply. Oh, wait! He had something important to ask.  
"Hey, you seen Puma anywhere today? I brought enough lunch for two... Or three, if you want in on this?"

Drago was _so_ over that conversation. He flexed his nearly clawed hands and gave one of his infamous low growls as his only response. Then he turned to the heavy bag and laid into it, glad to have an opponent so inanimate that it literally couldn't fight back.

"... Okay, I'm gonna check the cantina then..." Johnny knew better than to disrupt Drago's special time with his heavy bag, so he about-faced and made his way down the hall and through the locker rooms to the quaint little table, chairs, tube television, and similarly ancient refrigerator, which made up their refreshments room.  
He opened up one food container, wondered where Puma could be, hoped for the twentieth time that day that he wasn't in the hospital, and started chewing.

Back in the gym, Puma was straightening from behind the full sized wrestling practice ring and sniffing the air to get the scent of whatever food Johnny'd brought to work. Is smelled vaguely spicy.  
He was able to catch Drago's eye between a couple of complicated combinations the horned Luchador was working the kinks out of on his unmoving target.  
Drago did him the courtesy of pausing his merciless onslaught on the heavy bag to give him a few more seconds of his time.

 _"I O U,"_ Puma spelled at him.

 _"He bothering you?"_ Drago asked, jabbing a thumb in the direction Johnny'd disappeared not long ago. Laden with aromatic food. Which he'd offered to share.

Puma shook his head for more than one reason and got back to his speed rope exercises . Leave it to Drago to sign the darnedest things.

After a few seconds of quick changes and close to the ground skipping, Puma realized that Drago's chuckle had been the only part of their conversation that had the potential to be overheard from outside the room. Man, ASL was awesome! Because of it, Johnny was completely unawares that anything but creepy laughter was going down in that gym.  
Probably couldn't even hear the whir of his speed rope if he was standing four feet away, on account of the poor heavy bag being beaten to a pulp.  
Oh, wait. If that were the case, then Puma might not be able to here Mundo's approach either.

Prince Puma distracted himself enough with that thought that his right foot missed the next switch up and tripped up the entire routine.  
He stumbled but didn't fall. His throat gave a pang from being tightened along with most of his other muscles, but at least he hadn't face planted like some noob who's never touched a jump rope before.

Drago, without stopping his lower body blows on the heavy bag, gave a short growl and twitched his chin in the frazzled Luchador's direction. As if to ask whether Puma was alright.

Puma shrugged and put one hand in front of himself, palm facing the floor, and teetered it in the universal hand gesture for, "Más o menos." Or, if English is more your thing, "More or less."  
He was gonna have to figure this thing out on his own. No offense to Drago, but a proud Puma like himself didn't need a mythical creature taking an interest in his personal business, thank you very much. Over complicated was over complicated enough for him already. Throwing magical elements into the mix wasn't gonna help anybody.

He finished up his jump roping with some slower skips to bring down his heart rate, then stowed the rope where it wouldn't get itself misplaced _again_ , thanks a lot Son Of Havoc.  
That taken care of, he sat on the practice ring's apron and sipped from a water bottle, rather gingerly, for a minute or two. Giving himself a little breather to mull things around in his head. The percussive beating of Drago's fists almost the metronome to the melancholy melody of his thoughts.

Puma was yanked out of his funk by an incensed snarl, barely a step down from a roar. Popping to his feet, he was treated to the sight of Drago, the proud técnico, grabbing the battered heavy bag around the middle and _lifting_ it at just the right angle that it came unhooked from its one mooring.  
Puma knew better than to draw attention to himself by trying to put distance between himself and a Drago who looked like he was in hunting mode, so he stood still and witnessed the supernatural Luchador balance the entire bag in his embrace, then body slam the thing so hard one of its seams ripped. A frankly blood curdling death screech accompanied the maneuver, and only once Drago's claws had dug deep holes and tears into the flesh of his "opponent" did Puma start backing to the side and away.

Maybe this was how Drago managed to not kill anyone in the ring? Worked out most of his predatory aggression on the gym equipment and brought only his Luchador aggression to the ring.  
Well, now the Underground Champ knew why it seemed as if there was always a new heavy bag hung when he came in to pound it. Who knows, there may have been more fighters than just Drago who regularly reduced it to not much more than a pile of sand and shredded leather.  
Though, Puma had some pretty solid doubts about that. This disturbing an image would definitely have made it into the Temple chisme if anyone else had borne witness before now.  
Maybe Drago was super ticked about something?

As if responding to the thought, Drago ceased his low snarlings, turned just enough to get Puma in his line of sight, and gave a friendly smile.  
Perhaps he was reassuring his coworker that it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with this stupid, aggravating heavy bag!  
Puma wasn't sure how to react nor respond. He wasn't frightened, per se. No, it was more the emotion you might think a deer in headlights might be feeling. Something like: Oh geez man, that's bright. I wonder what that could be? Maybe Bigfoot got her hands on a flashlight again. Or maybe this is what Ma was talkin' 'bout when she said, "Remember kids, if you're ever in a dark tunnel, don't go towards the light." Guess I'll just stand here and find out.

"Drago!?"

Both the Luchador in the gym snapped their attention to the entrance, through which the call had bounced. And by the sound of those long strides, it couldn't be anyone other than Johnny Mundo!

Again, Prince Puma didn't think. Just dove. Although, being already right about behind the practice ring, it was more like a fast crouch than a full body dive.

Johnny skidded into the room too flustered to register that there had been the vestigial air ripple of movement behind the ring that was kept in the gym. Instead, Drago held all of his attention.  
The two stared at each other, Drago from his crouch above his "kill" and Johnny from just inside the doorway, both going for subtlety in their heaving to catch their breaths.

"Hrm," Johhny cleared his throat. "Hey, Drago. Um, thought maybe something... dangerous might've been going down, but it looks like you have everything under control. I'm gonna..." Johnny tried to stow his incredulous expression, but it kept springing back onto his face, so he gave up and just let it be, "put away the rest of the food so it doesn't, uh, die. Huh. Did the bag look at you wrong?"

Drago's head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed, almost reminiscent of a large bird of prey. Except way more intimidating. Cause he was the size of a small dragon.

"Okay... I can help you hang a new one in a minute. Be right back." Johnny took off for the cantina before things could get any creepier.

Drago gave a snort, kinda sounding like a horse, and inched himself to his full height.  
Puma did the same, without the snort, wishing he knew why it was that he was again hiding behind the ring instead of facing things head on. Then he saw Drago inspecting his own hands, looking as if he might be disappointed that they were covered in sand dust and not... something gorier.  
Puma gulped, then winced.

Drago turned at the sound and raised his hands, palms up, and teetered them a few times. _"What?_ He asked, as if everything he'd just done _wasn't_ the weirdest stuff anyone'd ever seen.

Puma indicated Drago's entire body with a gesture sweeping from head level to knee height. Then he remembered that the cantina wasn't all that far away, and that he really must be going now.  
 _"See you later. Gotta dash,"_ Puma said, starting to hop in place as if he were warming up for a jog.

 _"You're running away?"_ Asked a perturbed Drago.

 _"Tactical retreat, brother."_

 _"But, we aren't brothers,"_ Drago's last sentence went unseen by the Prince, as he'd already turned mid hop and was scrambling out a little used side door.  
Drago was concerned. Now he'd need to ask around, not here at the Temple though, whether there was the possibility that somewhere back in his lineage, a Dragon and a Puma had loved each other very much.  
Considering he probably would have heard something that impressive by now... maybe Prince Puma didn't mean it literally.  
Drago waved his arm at that practically forgotten door in a "whatever" fashion and turned back to the decimated heavy bag. He had several seconds to _kill_ until Mundo would be back to ruin his fun. Heh heh.

Puma knew what lay beyond that door. He'd been there before and he'd be dragged there in the future. It was: the all but neglected, unless extenuating circumstances required someone tread foot there, the EMT break room. Yeah, not that bad really.  
Just; in a Temple full of thugs, Luchadores, and legends, taking advantage of the medical staff was generally viewed as a weakness. Unless of course, you crawled there by your fingernails while bleeding, or the medics took you in there themselves because they didn't want you to die.  
All the fighters were pretty sure that if one of them died on the EMTs' watch, the medics would experience a, hrmph, dock in pay.  
The trio of medics must have liked how the odds were improved in their favor by the fact that they were contracted mostly to be there for fight nights.

Puma shook thoughts of the superstitions of the locker room out of his ear and glanced at the mini fridge, glad that it was a secret to the other fighters and that they all were still in the dark about his extra milk hiding place.  
Not that anyone ever stole his milk. He was just protective of it.

Puma sat on the big, comfy sofa and sighed. He would have hung upside down off the side of one arm rest and started up a rep of sit-ups, but he'd promised himself he wasn't gonna _try_ to cause his throat pain the first day back.  
Instead, he worked it with a breathing exercise and allowed his mind to drift.  
Probably not the best idea, in all honesty.

After the breathing exercise, he had the thought of curling up and taking a nap, right where he sat.  
Yeah, it'd be just like that time a week or so ago when- an image hit him hard enough that he felt that punch to the gut Cage'd given him all over again.

Puma sucked in a breath and sprang off the couch, putting some distance between himself and the memory.  
He left the room, trying not to look back and definitely not at the couch, for fear that he'd see himself laying on it, a smiling Johnny Mundo close at hand, joking and swapping stories for as long as Puma had been able to keep his eyes open.  
That had been the spot where they'd first admitted the existence of a friendship between the two of them. Where Puma had finally made... a friend. Or, at least, he _thought_ he had.

Oh geez, his eyes were starting to sting. Where does one go when they don't want to be seen crying? A good place to collect yourself so you don't cry in the first place? Right: the bathroom!

Good thing it wasn't far. Puma didn't want to chance bumping into anyone and having to make up a story about dropping a weight on his foot or being really _really_ hungry. It wasn't likely anyone would believe those anyway.

As expected, the filthy, no doubt sanitation code breaking, baño was empty. So Puma shut himself in the closest stall, closed the toilet lid, gave it a good wipe down with some toilet paper -did no one clean these things!?-, and sat himself down. He was not moving until he had a handle on these runaway thoughts.  
It wasn't cool for the reigning Champion to keep hiding and running from something that wasn't even threatening to end his life. So he was gonna knock it off and face this thing-

Footsteps approached, and by the sound of it, someone had a mighty need to access the facilities. Uh-oh. Those were Mundo's "I really need to go" steps.  
With no time to bolt and nowhere to hide, Puma did the only thing that made sense: he scootched until his back was flush with the toilet's water tank and pulled his knees up to his chest. Then he hugged them tight and made his breathing as quiet as possible, thanking his lucky stars that one of the faulty toilets in there made a perpetual hissing noise, over which only _most_ noises could be discerned.

Johnny entered the restroom and tried the first stall, unaware of the crouching Puma inside, nor that he nearly gave said Luchador a heart attack when he rattled the door a second time.  
Must've been his favorite stall.

"Hm. Out of order, I guess," Puma heard Mundo mumble to himself. Then he felt the shadow of a six foot plus body pass the crack in the door and hoped against hope that it didn't pause to peak in.  
Puma didn't relax an iota as the second stall's door shut and he heard the unzipping of a fly, followed by no fewer than forty seconds of what sounded like a healthy flow.  
He could see Mundo's sneakers underneath and on the other side of the partition. Could feel his own throat and stomach protesting his stealth position, saying, "Ouch. You better straighten out, and straighten out fast! This fetal position is _not_ working for us. I got injuries! Uh, _we_ got injuries."

"Ah," came a sigh of relief -Haha, relief-, then the sound of the zipper going up, and that was likely a button being done. The toilet was flushed, the narrow door was opened and the stall exited. That same shadow darkened Puma's space for a moment, then the sink was being used and the Champ couldn't help using the crack between the door and the partition to peak at his reason for hiding.

"Puma?"

Puma froze. Even his eyes stopped right where they were. Peering at the reflective surface of the dingy mirror above the sinks, seeing Johnny Mundo's face, worry making it appear grim, looking... back at him?!

"Wherever you are..." 'I hope you're fine', were the finishing words that went unspoken, stuck behind a roadblock in the mind of Johnny Mundo.

Johnny was a Premiere Luchador, but crack gumshoe he wasn't.  
Puma went undiscovered as Mundo flicked his hands kind of dry, unconsciously balled them into tight fists of concern, and trudged, presumably, back to the gym.

Puma stayed still as the dead as he watched Johnny Mundo's reflection leave the restroom and turn down the hall. He gave it a thirty count before deciding that the coast was indeed clear -who ever returned to the bathroom anyway?-, and released a shaky breath he realized he'd been holding since Mundo'd spoken his name aloud.  
Puma had no idea how to interpret what he'd just overheard and overseen. Aside from the rather obvious fact that Mundo was thinking about him, and that could be any number of things between sweet, sour, and really _really_ creepy.

Puma also realized that his face was cuddling his knees. When had that happened? His arms and legs were trembling with what must have been adrenaline and... great. His shoulders were beginning to shake.  
Why was this happening? Is this what it was like to have friends? You have a good time- a _great_ time hanging out and... helping each other reach things on the top shelf one week... Then the next you're hiding from him and crying in diseased bathrooms. Curled up on a toilet seat.

Puma hiccuped involuntarily, winced as that hurt his throat, and mused that this was probably the most pathetic he'd allowed, if you wanted to stretch the definition of _allowed_ , himself to end up in... quite a while. Or maybe since the night before?  
Now that he thought about it, he had no idea which was sadder: Crying on your trainer in the not quite emergency wing of a hospital when _he_ was the one with brand new stitches, or hiding from the world- the _Mundo_ and crying alone for reasons even less understood than the last time.

Maybe he'd give them a tie. This probably shouldn't be a contest anyway. There definitely wasn't gonna be a prize, so what would be the point?  
Besides, what would the officiator of such a contest _say_?  
"Alright! Lucha Underground Champion Prince Puma, which of your recent and closely spaced break downs was the most embarrassing? Which involved the most heart wrenching display of water works? Any of them come on suddenly in the middle of a crowd? Extra points if someone else started crying in response! Don't skimp on the details!"

Puma was glad that that wasn't an actual... thing. Otherwise, out of all the Luchadores in the Temple, he'd probably win.  
Naw, he'd definitely win.

Feeling about as miserable as... Well, feeling miserable, Puma decided that enough was enough, darn it!  
He pulled his arms loose from 'round his legs, uncoiled himself into an upright stand, and shouldered his way out of the bathroom stall. He walked to the nearer sink and soaked his entire head with cool water, making sure to soak his mask through. Not caring at all that that was a pretty good way to ruin a leather mask.

On the plus side: No one would be able to tell he'd been crying like a baby! That might be worth the sacrifice of one little Lucha mask, in the long run. Considering this was a very competitive sport. You never know when folks could be searching their co-workers for weaknesses that might help them out in their next head to head in the ring.  
Got a limp? Which leg? Oh, okay, now they know exactly which body part to focus their wear down tactics on while Striker and Vamp comment about their _amazing_ strategy. Heehee!  
It was a competitive sport.

And he wasn't all that worried about the mask. Probably a little reconditioning and it'd be fine. Ish. Konnan was gonna be mad at him, wasn't he?

Setting those worries aside for later inspection, Puma figured he should leave the bathroom as soon as possible. Although, if there _were_ diseases floating around in there, he'd probably spent enough time on that toilet to contract them. Twice over. Hopefully he was immune.

Puma cat walked down the corridor, hearing a brand new heavy bag being shared by two people, and it sounded like Mundo was egging on a dragon to hit it, "Harder!". Puma never thought he'd hear the day.  
He had to whip his way passed the door and in the process, caught a split second snapshot of one large person shaped blur holding the newly hung bag in place, and a serpentine shaped blur hitting said bag **hard**.

Puma was pretty sure the both of them were thoroughly preoccupied. He was in the clear, and it wasn't likely they'd be able to tear themselves away from the intoxicating smell of fresh out of the wrapping leather, so his walk to the locker room was more relaxed.  
Why he was heading to the locker room, he couldn't say. Just felt like the next logical place to haunt. Maybe someone had left some light weights in there. Again, _thanks_ Son Of Havoc.

Puma gave the locker room a quick sweep and came up empty. Couldn't find a darn fishing weight in there, let alone something that could actually help him work up a sweat.  
He was about to call it a calisthenics only day when he realized that he could legitimately call it a recoup day. One which included a good speed rope session. Not to shabby when you look at it that way.

Puma turned one-eighty, still not sure what to do with the rest of his day, then stopped in his tracks. That duffel bag hadn't been there seconds ago! Ghost! Poltergeist! It had a horrid black face and- oh wait: that was just Sexy Star standing under a flickering light. Phew. La masacrara de la fantasma she was not. In the only locker room in the Temple though, she was. She appeared busy with the last of her hand wrappings though, must've been doing them while walking in, and hadn't yet looked over in the Champ's direction.  
She was gonna have to strong arm the other two off the heavy bag if she wanted a turn at it any time in the next few hours. Although, maybe the speed bag was her speed today? Or maybe some high flying rope practice. Though, that was not easy without someone to spot for you.

While Puma stood there, wondering what it was Sexy Star was planning on doing with that almost excessive bulk of tape around her knuckles, Sexy finished off and glanced around the poorly lit locker room. Seeming satisfied, she inspected her tape job once more. Grinning a bit at a space on her palm where the crisscrossing layers made the outline of a vaguely star shaped pattern.  
Within three seconds, she'd realized something was amiss and double took straight into the rest of the locker room.

"Puma?" She set her roll of tape on the bench by her duffel bag. Yeah, they needed some new lights in there. Could barely see a Sexy Star or Prince Puma ten feet away. If they weren't careful, people could easily get jumped, and that's no way to engender love or loyalty to a job. What was Dario thinking?

Puma waved and tried to affect a casual air, realizing a little late that he never acted casual and that, for him, casual was probably more of a red flag than just sitting on one of the benches and staring off into space. Daydreaming about high fat content, silky milks that he'd seen on TV. The food channels were _not_ his friend!

As Puma should have seen coming, Sexy narrowed her eyes at his display of nonchalance and came a little closer. The better to see you my dear.  
Puma, for his part, didn't run away.

"Cuál es el problema?" Sexy asked. Puma, against his better judgment, attempted to reassure her with an offhanded shrug. Hissing might have thrown her off the trail better.  
"Has estado llorando? You been crying?" Sexy's English was rather stilted, but she'd just remembered that she was practicing for her American audiences' sake and she wasn't gonna take the easy way out just because she knew Puma understood Spanish.

Puma's cool, calm, collected and totally fake persona dried up in an instant and he was left floundering. Like a fish pulled from deep water onto a bank, he shook his head as if that might save his hide.  
Then he remembered that he had hands, so he told Sexy that he'd simply decided that his mask needed a wash... and that he'd forgotten how you're _supposed_ to wash a Luchador mask. Um, no. This was an accident- a _freak_ accident, involving a bucket of water over a partially open door... Sexy didn't understand ASL.  
She also didn't react to what must have, to her, seemed an entertaining game of charades.

"Don't try to deny it. You know the origin of Sexy Star. I know what crying eyes look like," she insisted, speaking the last sentence softly and coming close enough to offer comfort. "I also know that crying can be good for you, not shameful. So hold your head high," Sexy said, bringing a flat hand up under the chin of Puma's hanging head and lifting.  
"You'll feel better that way." She gave him a smile and held his gaze until she got an eye wrinkle from him that was banked in positive emotion, then she backed off to a more casual distance.  
"Of course, there must eventually be closure. Crying has a place, but so does beating your problems with iron fists until they tap out," said with a fierce determination which made her whole persona seem somehow transformed.  
Like a harbinger of death being woken from a thousand year slumber. Cranky, hungry, and with a crick in the neck the size of Staten Island.

Puma raised his hands in a fusion of the "calm down" and "give me a high five" fashions, and gave a pinched smile. Sexy noticed after a second and must have thought he was just reaching toward her, because she swooped under his arms and squeezed his upper body as if going for a take down.

"If you need anything, just let me know. Alright?" She peered at his eyes through the holes in her and his masks. He gave a hesitant nod, thinking to himself that he probably _wouldn't_ , considering Sexy might just bring pain and destruction to any "problem" he brought to her attention.  
"Bueno." She gave him another squeeze, and he could feel the security and comfort she was channeling through to him, but it was fettered by just how righteous her passion for justice was. He was trying pretty hard not to be intimidated. She _was_ offering **help** , after all.

Sexy Star relinquished her grapple and took control instead of his shoulders. There were probably six different ways she could lead into a combo and flip him into a locker from there, but her expression was one of compassion, not malice, so Puma felt his body relax under her intent gaze.

"If you want, I can go and get Johnny for you. You have been close the last weeks." Puma hoped his face didn't noticeably blanch at the suggestion, he didn't want Sexy on a hunt for justice in his place of work, no thank you.  
"Or is this a problem _between_ the two of you?" She was too perceptive! Or Puma was too obvious. Either way, he wasn't about to answer that question. No way.

Sexy cocked her head and gave a knowing grimace. "If that Mundo has anything to do with this," she indicated his rather soggy mask with one hand, "he's gonna have to answer to-"

Puma cut her off with a desperate shake of the head. She studied him, the pleading in his eyes confusing her as to whether he _really_ needed some outside help, or whether this was something he just needed to figure out on his own.  
Sexy Star must have decided that, either way, he was younger and less experienced than her and obviously had need of another hug. Because she pinned him with one. A gentle, you'd think she was related to and _actually_ **really** cared about her little hermano, type hug.

"Don't worry, Gatito. If you and Johnny are meant to be, if you love each other very much -and respect each other, and want each other to be happy, and know how, or _learn_ how, to settle things reasonably, not coming to fights and blows-," she pulled back to use one of her hands. Rotating it as if to say, 'and so on, and so on. You get the idea, I hope.' "Then nothing will get between you two for long."

Sexy stepped back, shoved her roll of hand wrapping tape into her duffel and shoved that into her locker. "But if that gringo ever makes you cry again, let me know. He's my age; he should know better," the conspiratorial wink tacked on the end didn't reassure Puma the way it was surely supposed to.  
He sent back a clumsy approximation of her wink, and watched her blow him a kiss and walk off in the direction of the gym.

When Sexy was out of sight and earshot, Puma leaned his shoulder against the nearest locker and took a deep breath. Glad that _he_ had never done anything to attract the Star's ire.  
So, what Sexy was saying, is that violence _is_ often the answer, but not if the problem was a... friend.  
Hm. Nope. He didn't get it.

After a few moments though, the realization dawned that Sexy's... caring advise had left him not only spooked, but warmed as well. To know that there was someone in the locker room who he just might be able to count on in a pinch, outside the ring at least, was bolstering.  
He wasn't sure whether he _should_ count Drago, considering any help the Luchador could offer might very well end with someone **dead** , but Puma was reminded all the same that his ASL buddy _had_ had his back earlier.  
Hm. With coworkers like these in your corner...

Puma gave a start at the sound of yelling bouncing in the door. He relaxed when he realized it was coming from the gym and that the voice belonged to Sexy Star. And that she was yelling in Spanish at a couple of "loco Luchadores" who wanted to have the bag to themselves for the _entire_ afternoon?!  
Yep. Strong arming underway. Otherwise, Mundo and Drago would probably beat the poor heavy bag until it sagged, lay it out on the floor, and sleep on it, before letting anyone else have a turn.  
Some pretty strange things happened in that Temple.

Puma couldn't help smiling at the sound of Drago trying to growl his way into another three hours with the piece of gym equipment. Sounded like Sexy was gonna come away with a win on this one. Good for her!  
Drago needed to learn how to share anyway. That must not have been a thing wherever he grew up.

What Puma had not considered might happen as a result of the two being kicked off their favorite play toy, was that they might just want to retreat and regroup in the locker room. It clicked in his head that they were indeed coming in there almost too late.  
He jumped over to his own locker, thumbed the combo, jerked the grated door open, and slipped inside the space. Which he was disappointed to find, was not designed with full sized Pumas squeezing inside in mind. In fact: the door would only shut enough that it obscured his presence. If someone came close, they'd realize it was a few inches from flush.

There was no time for anything better, as Mundo and Drago were turning into the locker room just as Puma managed to make his leftover foot disappear behind his locker door.

"I still think we could have taken her, Drago! We're taller than her!" Johnny Mundo's confident, joking tone rang through the seemingly empty room.  
Puma could see through the grate his face was practically smooshed against, that Drago didn't appreciate the humor. In fact, the dragon man appeared relieved to be in one piece.

 _"Live to fight another day."_ puma had to try hard not to snicker at that one. Classic Drago.

"Uh, yeah. You're right: only fight if you're getting paid. Words to live by," Johnny said in reply, seemingly able to pick at least the word 'fight' out of the ASL he was by no means fluent with.  
Drago seemed impressed.

Mundo sauntered over to the locker with a picture of the planet earth taped to it and pulled out a towel, which he slung around his neck.  
Drago, to Prince Puma's terror, took a step in his hiding places' direction and _sniffed_ the air. Multiple times.

Mundo noticed by the third repetition and couldn't help asking, "What ya smellin', Drago?"

The masked Luchador took one more step and sniffed again, his head held higher that time. Puma held his breath, then nearly fell out of the locker altogether when a pair of iridescent eyes locked with his. He felt weak in the cramped knees the whole two and a half seconds that Drago stared into his soul.

"Nada," Drago growled as he turned to face Johnny Mundo, letting Puma go undisturbed once again.

"Nothing? That's a whole lot of intense sniffing over nothing!" Mundo walked over to where Drago was just staring back at him and made a show of sampling the air with his inferior human nose.  
Puma made a mental note to thank Cueto for never replacing burnt out lights when Mundo's eyes skated right over his clandestine coffin, the tall Luchador still none the wiser.  
"Well, I guess it really was nothing. Heh, you're a whole lot of fun, Drago. I'll spar with you anytime! Just let me know," Johnny said, clapping a hand to Drago's shoulder.

Though he didn't look especially excited about the offer, Drago executed an excellently human looking smile and nodded. Then, because Mundo hadn't taken his hand back yet, he added a gravelly, "Gracias."

"You're a riot, man! I'll catch you later!" He called as Drago slipped passed him and out of the locker room altogether. No one knowing whether he'd gone in there looking for something and not found it, or if he'd just sort of followed Johnny in 'cause he was bored, and left when it turned out he was kind of annoying.

Johnny sighed. Alone again, his mind came back to its constant subject of worry: the well being of his friend, Prince-

"Puma?"

Again, Puma nearly fell out of the old locker.

"I hope..." 'you're doing fine.' Again, the latter half of Johnny's musing was internalized. He lumbered back over to his locker, the one with the picture of el mundo taped to it, wiped the sweat off his face with the towel 'round his neck, then whipped the thing off and shoved it back inside the compartment.  
He looked as if he might slam the narrow door, but at the last moment, his bunched muscles relaxed and he closed it with more tenderness than one might think the fighter possessed.

Then he heaved a huge sigh, brushed his hair back from his shoulders, and exited the locker room. His shoulders and mind seemingly weighed down by... Who knows what?

Puma uncrunched his not insubstantial frame out of his locker, paused before closing it behind him, to make sure the coast was clear, and stole away from the room. Hoping he'd never need to use one of those darn tight squeezes as a hiding place again.

He climbed up into the attic, deciding that no one in their right mind was gonna find him up there.  
He was pretty sure about that because the only evidence of human activity he'd ever found up there was in the form of some weird shrine, dedicated to someone named "Maestro". Littered with funky black candles, animal bones -at least, they _looked_ like animal bones-, and more than one five sided red star which appeared to have been hand smeared onto the floor.  
Puma felt fairly confident that whoever'd put it there was in their _wrong_ mind and therefore the only person aside from himself who might venture up there. Without there being a leak that needed fixing.

He spent the better portion of the afternoon up there. Admiring the newest additions to the creepy little altar -He really liked the freshly bleached bird skull. Nice touch.-, and zoning out on the hard wooden floor well enough to get a quick cat nap in.  
He hoped the owner-maintainer of the place couldn't tell that a few of the cute little mouse skulls had been juggled until one fell and got itself cracked against one of those barely used candles.  
Puma also liked that the candles were all placed exactly on the five points of the sloppily finger painted, rust red stars. Kind of detracted from the inconsistency of the lines themselves.

Come to think of it, he'd nearly wet himself the first time he'd stumbled his way upon all that. But since then, he'd learned to appreciate it for the constant Día Dé Muertos celebration that it looked like it was. If you squinted at it _real_ hard. With only one eye at a time. Through your fingers.

After the somewhat satisfying, hard wood for a bed, nap, Puma was pretty sure it was that time when the gym using Luchadores took their leave of the Temple.  
He sneaked to a place high above where he could watch the security clearance exit without fear of being spotted. No one ever looked up _before_ leaving anyway.  
He watched with a mirthful smile as Drago just growled when asked to show his Luchador ID. Those poor security officers! They should've known better by then!

Sexy Star left the building next, gracing both security folks with a smile and showing her badge almost with pride. Go Sexy!

After a stretch of several minutes, a bored looking Ivelisse and Son Of Havoc flashed their IDs and trudged out, onto the open road.

Eventually, all the Luchadores Puma hadn't known were there that day had left and he'd nearly forgotten about the one he'd been trying to avoid.  
Johnny Mundo seemed to be last fighter out of the building, save Puma, and for some reason, he seemed to be dragging his feet.

"Hey. How's it been?" Mundo asked the security as he flashed his ID for them. Why they needed to see ID on the way _out_ was a mystery to him, but he rolled with it all the same.

"Eh, slow day," one of them answered.

"Yeah. Good for anyone using the gym, at least."

"I'd expect so," said the other.

"Say, either of you seen... Never mind. Have a good evening," Johnny politely moped, turning around to exit the Temple walking backwards. Searching its bowels for... something...  
Not at all creepy.

Puma watched that exchange while plastered as flat as he could get himself to the shadows above everyone's heads. Was Johnny- Had Mundo been about to ask about _him_?

Well, even the stragglers gone for the day; it was about time Puma got himself something to eat, something to slake his thirst -he really should have brought a milk box with him to his and the mystery creepoid's secret hiding spot-, and made a visit to the hospital.  
Konnan hadn't asked him to visit, but he didn't like the idea of the guy going stir crazy all by his lonesome.  
Puma definitely wasn't gonna tell him all about his day though. That stuff was best left unshared. Never spoken of. Locked behind still hands.

That thought had Puma wondering, as he made his covert way down to the main floor, to the locker room for a quick change, to the cantina to grab a refreshment, and out the Temple altogether: Why was Johnny Mundo thinking about him? What did those incomplete, overheard questions and statements mean? What was going on in that Luchador's head!?

If only Johnny Mundo had finished those sentences, he might have seen Puma that day. Maybe.  
If only.

 **Will these Luchadores eventually just hug it out? Or should we expect more of the same in the near future for their rocky relationship? Well... more of _similar_ anyway.**  
 **Perhaps we'll get some answers next week! Until then, Peace!**  
 **~Anonymous**


	4. Puma's Acceptance Part One: Makeup

**You know when you have a bad day, then the next day the universe is like, "You know what? I think one bad day deserves another." Well how 'bout when that happens multiple days in a row?**

 **Chapter Four will examine that most unfortunate of phenomenon, as it applies to both our Prince, Puma, and a rattled Johnny Mundo. Will the adversity of Temple life pull them farther apart, or will the fates pull the emergency brake and force the two back together before someone goes off the road entirely?**

 **Note: The chapter sub-title may not be what it appears. : )**

Yep. It was official: Johnny Mundo was feeling... sad.  
So sad in fact that, the second morning after his fateful missing of Puma's match against the Machine known as Cage, and not seeing Puma all the first day after at the Temple, he called the hospital to which he was pretty sure the Luchadores who needed a physician were taken.

He'd asked whether a masked wrestler named Prince Puma had been admitted within the last couple days, he thought he'd been pretty well mannered about it too, but the person on the other end of the phone bit his ear off about patient confidentiality and the fact that, "Even if we had, we certainly wouldn't be telling any old Tom, Dick, or Harry who called up asking! Good day, Sir!"

The slamming sound of the hospitals' receiver punctuated the outburst pretty well.  
Johnny was still glad he'd called, because he was able to finally breathe a sigh of relief at a crumb of good news: Prince Puma was not in the hospital! Or, it was inadvertently indicated to him by the irate telephone answerer that he wasn't.  
Heehee. Pay attention to wording kids. Yours and others'.

Johnny laced up his sneakers and went to work getting to work. He arrived when he usually did, once again with some extra food and, this time, a pint of milk in tow. He'd even taken the time to find a writing instrument and scrawl across it, "The Champs' milk. That means Puma's!" Signed with a little sketch of the planet earth.  
Not too shabby.

He flashed his Luchador ID at the door, went straight to the cantina to store the pint in the prehistoric fridge, and proceeded to fret and worry all over again.  
Puma was generally in about the same time as he was. He wasn't -presumably wasn't- in the hospital, so what was the reason for his absence? He hadn't been here at all the day before.  
In fact: Not anywhere Johnny had gone had he seen hide nor hair of the Puma. Not in the gym, not in the restroom -although, that would have been weird. Who hangs out in a bathroom?-, not in the cantina, not in the _entire_ Temple.  
He also hadn't been able to rid himself of thoughts pertaining to all that had gone down the day before. Being trapped in that armored truck had taken a toll, and he was pretty sure it wasn't the truck itself, nor the simple reality of being stuck in it that had done the tolling, but what _being_ stuck had cost him: Front row seats to a Lucha Underground main event match.

All joking aside: It may have deprived him of his only shot at proving to his friend that he would be there for him. Because that's what friends do! They get themselves locked in trucks for each other and miss-  
Well, optimally they would _avoid_ getting locked in the back of vans, and definitely _not_ miss important, life altering events which they'd **promised** they'd be attending.  
Huh. This really wasn't looking too good on his friendship score card.

He'd _tried_ though! Johnny'd tried with all his not inconsiderable physical and mental prowess to make it to that fight! And that front row seat he'd _paid_ for. With his own money.  
That part wasn't all that important, really. He could eat that. Too bad he couldn't write it off as a business expense. Or _could_ he?  
No- leave the thoughts of potential tax evasion for some other time! He was worried about Puma and he'd finally taken a proactive step on the road toward no longer being worried! He was gonna ride that wave of momentum as far as it'd tow him, darn it!

Second step: Ask everyone he met whether they'd seen or heard anything about the Champ since the main event bout.  
This was gonna be **so** productive.

He found Drago in the gym, once again laying into the heavy bag like someone was gonna come take it away from him before he could get his fill of practice in.  
Johnny was pretty sure no one would dare. Except Sexy Star.

"Mornin' Drago! That bag breaking in nicely?" Drago gave a self satisfied, purring growl of affirmation. "Sweet. Need a spotter?" Johnny got a derisive snort for that one. "Fine. _Want_ a spotter?"

Drago paused to give the offer serious consideration, which just so happened to throw off his rhythm entirely. So he did _not_ get super annoyed, and motioned for Johnny to get behind the bag and keep it still for him.  
They exchanged nods once they were in position, and Johnny was reminded just how hard he needed to brace to keep that bag steady. Drago was a monster!  
Which led Johnny to wonder why it never felt, or looked, as if Drago was hitting this hard when fighting... sentient opponents. A dragon with a passion for sportsmanship? Interesting. Guess the Temple really did attract all kinds.

"Hey, Drago?" Johnny asked, tone lacking just a little of its customary confidence. Drago grunted. "Have you seen Puma? Or heard from him, since his big bout?"

The dragon-esque Luchador broke eye contact with the heavy bag to look Johnny intimidatingly full in the face. He also stopped the punching. "¿Por qué?" He asked, while putting a flat palm to his scaled forehead and pulling it away in a letter 'y' formation.

Wow. Two languages, both of them ones which Johnny wasn't fluent in, at once. Drago was really taking him to school today!  
"Um, why am I asking?" He got a nod. "Uh," Johnny hadn't expected this sort of response. Especially not to a question he'd thought was pretty standard, casual gym talk. He didn't know what to think of it.  
"Just wondering. Puma's usually here every day, and at least as early as you and me," he said, figuring guiding this thing back toward the safe side of mellow a good idea. He, after all, had no idea why Drago had reacted the way he had. Johnny'd thought Puma was friendly with the dragon man, but maybe he'd misread animosity as camaraderie and they actually hated each other?  
He sure didn't _think_ that was the way things were.

Drago studied him a moment longer than seemed natural. As if trying to reach past Johnny's words and uncover his true intentions. The guy was starting to freak his spotter out.  
His face inscrutable, Drago fell back into a striking stance and motioned for Johnny to brace for impact. Before going back to his beloved exercise though, he offered up, "¿Soy el guardián de mi hermano?"

"Did you just quote genesis at me?" Drago bared his teeth in a way Johnny _hoped_ meant, "Yep, I am super funny and you should be holding that bag steady with all you got." If it didn't: uh oh.

To Johnny's relief, Drago did go back to hitting the heavy bag. Though as improbable as it sounded, Drago was hitting it **harder** now. Johnny was beginning to worry that his gym buddy was being a mite defensive, or maybe trying to intimidate him with this quasi preternatural display of force.

Wait. Drago'd quoted straight from the mouth of Cain! Did that mean that, in this equation, Prince Puma was Abel? Wait a sec: Did that make Johnny God, because he'd asked the whereabouts of Abel- eh, Puma?  
On second thought: That quote _was_ pretty popular, and most folks used it in a way far removed from how Cain did in the actual text, thank goodness. Otherwise, there'd be a lot of people going around killing folks then casually rebuffing other's attempts to locate them.  
Drago had a strange sense of humor.

"Wait. Why does Puma get to be your brother?" Johnny said it loud enough that he could be heard over the sound of a heavy bag being tenderized.

Drago wasted enough breath to chuckle twice. Darkly.  
That wasn't helping his case at all.

It was the evening of the day after his first official match against Cage the Machine. He'd had a nice visit with Konnnan wherein he hadn't said anything to his mentor's, "How was your day?" Instead opting to shuffle all the way close to the chair Konnan was occupying and stare at the floor.

"Venga aquí. Come here," said the convalescing trainer, raising his hands off the armrests of his comfy looking perch. "Necesitas un abrazo. I can tell."

That's all it took. Puma was down on one knee and burying his head in the front of Konnan's shoulder almost faster than the older man could blink.  
Puma seemed hesitant to complete the gesture, so Konnan signaled he was serious about the hug by encircling his protege with a firm set of arms and pulling the Luchador closer.  
Puma's return squeeze was gentle. Konnan was almost embarrassed that the kid was still concerned about his constitution. Though, he supposed he couldn't blame him for it. He _was_ still sitting around in the hospital, after all.

"You take it easy today?" He got a nod. Which felt more like a nuzzle, if he was honest with himself. "Good. How's that throat doing? ¿Aún duele?" He got another nuzzle, but this time signaling a 'no'.  
Konnan pulled his arms free and sat back to study his protege. Puma was still looking at the ground, but at least he seemed in better condition than he had after last evening's... disappointments. Still, he thought Puma was being evasive, so he decided to be safer than sorry.  
"Déjame veo. Or we can call in a nurse," he negotiated, at the Luchador's near balk. He was glad Puma wasn't as stubborn as _he'd_ been at the same age.  
As it was, Puma stayed still for the visual examination of his tender neck. He even barely reacted when Konnan's hand closed around his entire throat, fingers and thumb spanning from right under one ear, all the way across to right under the other.  
"I know your EMT friends wouldn't have let you ride along without checking you out themselves, but you never know what can come up after the fact. Swelling, damage to the windpipe, the trachea, you get the idea," he explained, as he made little explorational, massaging motions with the pads of his fingers

Satisfied nothing was gonna keep his fighter from the ring for long, Konnan patted the kid on the shoulder and relaxed back into his seat. Puma swallowed in a way that sounded as if he'd been trying to avoid doing just that, and moved himself from the floor to sit on the edge of the funky hospital bed.

"Well, did you talk to anybody today?"

Puma shrugged, then figured Konnan deserved a proper response. _"Drago. Sexy Star."_

"Hmph, not bad. They're good Luchadores," Konnan said, nodding to himself. "You remember to eat lunch?" He asked, peering over the top of his glasses.

Puma squirmed a bit and shook his head, deeming it unnecessary to spill all the gritty details. After all, he'd spent the entire lunch section of the day playing with little bleached mammal bones in a secret attic shrine. Konnan did _not_ need to know about that. He'd probably want him to stop!

"You don't need to be cagey with me, Puma. You don't wanna talk about it, you're a grown Luchador, you decide what you do and don't gotta do."

Puma met his trainer's eyes for three seconds and nodded, feeling like a pressure was leaving his shoulders, allowing him to sit straighter. Which got him in a better position whence to posit a question.  
He raised a loose fist to his cheek, folded fingers in, and pulled it forward in a little arc, then he pointed at Konnan, and ended with bringing his two pointer fingers together in a swooping motion that ended with them steepled, around collar bone level. _"Are you coming to the Temple tomorrow?"_  
He asked it with a hopeful face.

"Ay, no, mijo. These doctors! Want me to stay one more day. Something about me being a senior citizen with a history of concussion, or something igualmente ridículo."

Puma's hopefulness drained right out, leaving him once more, staring at the floor.

"Hey, Champ. You eat dinner yet?" He got a rather chastised looking head shake at that. And he hadn't even been _trying_ to tell the kid off about treating his body well. Must've been down about something work related, and if Konnan had a guess: whatever it was, had something to do with Johnny Mundo. The skunk. Going to town on his protege's psyche and playing games with his tender, sensitive sensibilities.  
Why Johnny'd promised to show up to that match was a mystery to Konnan. Why he'd broken that promise though, Konnan could guess a few reasons a savvy Luchador might do something like that.  
But to mess with the head of someone so young, Johnny was nearly ten years older after all, just wasn't right. Especially when you weren't even _scheduled_ to fight each other anytime soon.

Konnan sighed at his pupil's youthful, largely inexperience related, problems and set to handling the 'no din-din' issue. "I saved you a pudding. They're too sweet for me anyway, and this one is... banana," he said, peering _through_ his glasses for once to read the label, "so it's basically fruit and coagulated milk in a cup." He reached beside himself to the little nightstand next to the chair, and brought forth the item of discussion, which Puma snatched as soon as it was within arms reach.  
"Uh, wait a sec. I think I dropped the spoon earlier. We might need una cuchara... nueva," he ended up trailing off. Dumbstruck in the face of such bad table manners.

Puma was three knuckles deep in the previously unopened pudding cup. Only three because that's how many of his fingers could fit into it at once, and he wanted the biggest scoop possible of the creamy confection. The better to stuff his gob **full** of the chunky banana and cream, light yellow, soppy, sugar high.  
He was practically purring with contentment as he licked the trailing vestiges of flavor out of the container, and... off of his probably not super clean hand.  
Konnan was pretty sure he heard a purr when the kid looked up from the desolation that had, but seconds earlier, been a fairly large, leftover calorie bomb. At least he'd gotten some food in him.

Puma was craning around and over Konnan's chair, without standing from the edge of the bed, trying to will more of his too soon gone treat into existence.  
Konnan let what he'd just **witnessed** pass without a comment of condemnation -nor commendation for that matter-, and instead went straight to the other bubble bursting fact of the matter.

"Sorry, fresh out." At the deflated Puma, which he'd been expecting after that utter _display_ , he rubbed his hands together in a show of conspiratorial support. "I bet you could lift one on your way out."

Puma gave him an eye and attempted to not look super put out. _"'Salright. I'm full now."_

Ack, having a straight laced protégé was no fun! Sometimes, anyway. At least he'd never need to bail Puma out of jail for petty larceny.  
Pros and cons, baby. Pros and cons, and perspective.

"You got a smudge on your mask. No se mueva," Konnan licked his thumb, leaned towards the bed, and swiped it across the leather near Puma's pudding chute. He then inspected it, "Hmph, banano," then rubbed it off on his pants and managed to not smirk when he caught the hint of a blush crawling below the big boy Luchador's mask. A mask which- ¡Hey, espérate un segundo!  
"Did you get your mask wet? And don't try to tell me it was a 'work related accident'!"

Puma's eyes went wide. He'd totally forgotten about that!  
Seeing as he had no defense, Konnan having disallowed the best one available, the Lucha Underground Champion sprang off the bed and definitely didn't let that momentum trip up his foot work.  
 _"Thanks for dinner-see you tomorrow-okay bye!"_ Puma said, rushing for the door, hands barely keeping up with his mind.

"Uh huh, don't forget to condition that! And eat some _real_ food before bed!" Konnan missed the 'stern' mark with the last sentence, but it didn't bug him too badly. Far as he could _tell_ , Puma'd had a good time. Although: they were gonna have to have a serious conversation about table manners and the fine art of _not_ starving yourself until you can't help but forget them. He'd seen the Champ use a spoon before. Right?

So, yeah. It'd been a nice visit and Puma'd felt bolstered, even though he knew he'd have to face another day at the temple without his trainer there to keep him focused.  
He wasn't looking forward to that as he stared hard at the security entrance to the Underground Temple.  
He'd watched Mundo enter, from a furtive angle about half a block away, and was having serious second thoughts about needing to work out that day. His throat _was_ still bothering him. Maybe he could just jog a few miles and call that square?  
No, what was he thinking? He was the Champ and champs don't let non champs scare them off their turf. Especially not non champs who appeared to have brought way too much food for a one person lunch. Again. And were all smiles and friendly waves to the security staff.  
Puma was being a baby again. Time to act like a grown Luchador and storm the Temple! Forward!

 _"Hi, B. Hi, T,"_ Puma greeted, while flashing his Luchador ID to each security guard in turn.

"Hey, Puma."

"'Morning, Puma." They greeted, both far too entertained by the fact that he'd shown his card backwards _and_ upside down to try and call him back and demand he flash it the 'correct' way. Besides, the poor guy was looking kinda... blue.

Puma stuffed the card back into his duffel as he entered the locker room. Then he stored the bag in his locker, sparing a longing glance at the place his Championship belt was supposed to be hanging, and thanked his lucky stars that he didn't need to shove _himself_ in there instead.

He took a minute to do a few stretches, a few jumping jacks, then started his way towards the gym. Fully aware that that was the most likely place for Mundo to be at that moment and therefore, the place he most did **not** want to be, himself.  
But it was also the place where virtually all the equipment was kept and he really wanted to get his hands on a good workout right about then.

From just outside the locker room, he could hear the sound of someone -probably Drago- pounding away on the heavy bag. As he came closer and closer to the gym entrance, it became easier to hear that there was a second, far more talkative person in there with him. Spotting for Drago, by the sound of it.  
Wait. Was J- was Mundo asking Drago about _him_? Asking about Puma's whereabouts a second day in a row? Why?  
Turned out, Drago was wondering the same thing.

Puma didn't like that this would technically count as eves dropping, but they were talking about _him_ , so he stopped right to the side of the gym door and listened in.

Mundo sounded kinda stressed, though Drago could have that effect on folks. Except Sexy Star.

"Just wondering. Puma's usually here every day, and at least as early as you and me," Puma heard Johnny say, suddenly sounding completely at ease.  
Oh. It was just professional curiosity? Hm. If that was the case, then why was Mundo being a... being weird the day before and saying weird things when he thought no one else was around?

Drago, after a short break quoted the bible at Mundo, which was pretty funny if you ask Puma, Mundo quipped back and then they went back to the heavy bag exercise.

"Wait. Why does Puma get to be your brother?" Mundo queried, followed by a low chuckle from Drago.  
So that was it, huh? No biggie. They were just pallin' around without a care in the mundo.

Puma decided he didn't want to break up the fun, so he went back the way he'd come and took the long way 'round, through the EMT break room, to the bathroom.  
Why he went _there_ of all places was a bit of a mystery, even to him. Maybe he _wanted_ to catch a deadly disease and was just going back for a booster?  
Whatever. He figured he might as well look at his uncomfortable neck in a mirror for a while. Remind himself just why it was he was feeling so down. After all, it had nothing to do with the fact that Mundo was hunky dory, having fun in the gym with _his_ ASL buddy, _did_ it?

Puma walked up to the closest sink and leaned in close to the mirror. To his disappointment, he could see the shadow of a boot print now. That didn't set well. Not well at all. He _really_ didn't need **that** piled on top of everything else. His day was already disappointing enough.

He reached down, touched as little of the sink as possible in order to wet his hands under the faucet, and wiped at the mark, trying gingerly to see whether it was actually a smudge of grease or maybe dirt he'd picked up on his way in that morning.  
He wasn't surprised when all he got for his efforts was a dripping neck.

"Move over, Gato," someone said. _Right_ before shoving Puma with a flat palm in the left hip.

 _"What gives Ivee?!"_ He signed as soon as he was over the initial shock of being sneaked up on.

"Shut up. You were hogging the good mirror."

Puma glanced at the level of graffiti on the two reflective surfaces and wondered what kind of standards Ivelisse was holding them to. They looked equally trashed to _him_.

The self proclaimed 'Baddest in the Building' seemed to care exactly zero percent that she'd just shoved the Champ, nor that this, the only bathroom in the 'Luchadores only' part of the building, was about as nice a place to stand around in as a macabre mausoleum at midnight. Especially since, like in one of those, the longer you spent in that rotten room, the closer you felt to death.  
It was horrifying, really. Puma wondered on a daily basis, even on days when he didn't end up using the 'facilities', why _no one in the history of the world_ had taken a cleaning product to it. It just wasn't right.

Ivelisse, completely unperturbed with any part of the equation, just kept peering into the mirror with an impassive, calculating air. Puma, for his part, was just staring at her, completely befuddled.  
After a few more intense seconds, the Luchadora from the open road heaved a relatively small gym bag up and onto the sink, balancing it neatly on the edges of the bowl so it couldn't fall in.  
If it had, Puma might have gagged. That sink was a Petri dish. Both of them were!

Still completely ignoring the fact that a Puma was staring at her, Ivelisse unzipped the bag and spread the top wide. Revealing to anyone near enough to see... that it was full of ordinary gym bag stuff.  
Yep, even the waterproof baggie chock full of every makeup product known to man was pretty standard. Puma'd 'accidentally' seen the inside of a lot of gym bags since he'd started at the Temple, and a staggering number of them included a kit that shared a striking resemblance to the one Ivelisse was popping open and spreading all around the open spaces along the edge of the sink she'd claimed as her own.

Now Puma was fascinated. This had to be some sort of significant ritual. Did every Luchador with one of those bags have a variation on this one? He'd yet to see any of the other's, so he had no idea. Maybe some of them also lit candles and went so far as to disinfect the sink first? Although, Puma doubted very much that _anyone_ had touched such a substance to either of those sinks since the day they'd been installed.  
He was beginning to regret not having asked Konnan about it the first time he'd seen such a thing in Pimpiñela Escarlata's sequined duffel. Maybe he'd been missing out?

Puma didn't take his eyes off the mysterious flasks and beakers as Ivelisse grabbed one, shook her head, chucked it in the trash with an exasperated, "Estúpido, expired on me," and picked up another, similar looking one. She flicked the lid open and squirted some white-ish, almost sorta clear-ish, liquid slime onto one hand, snapped the lid shut, put the bottle down in a _different_ spot than where she'd had it before, and proceeded to massage the goo into her entire face, hands and neck.  
This was getting hardcore.

Puma, if possible, became more engrossed with every lightning quick move Ivelisse made. Especially when she pulled out a little toothbrush from a black tube and pawed at her eyelashes with it. They looked fatter and longer by the time she twisted the fuzzy brush back into its sheath.  
Yep. There was definitely some magic going on at the obviously capable hands of the multi-talented Lucha professional known as Ivelisse. Puma was just hoping it wasn't _dark_ magic.  
Although, he wouldn't peg _Pimpi_ as a dark magic wielder, so he decided he wouldn't judge Ivee as such either. Not until he had any proof anyway.

Around the time she'd finished darkening her eyelids, the 'Baddest in the Building' looked somewhere that wasn't her own reflection and seemed to notice Puma's absolute _gawking_ for the first time. "What!?" She asked, really enunciating that 't'. And sounding pretty peeved. "You never seen someone put on makeup before?!"

Puma, being fairly confident Ivelisse wasn't looking for a fight, kept his surprised upper body flinch small and shook his head. All the while split between studying the differences Ivelisse had caused to her face and reading the visible labels on the bottles and tubes strewn about the frankly disgusting sink.  
He'd not seen such an impressive shrine outside of the one in the Temple attic... until now. This one though, he might lose a hand touching without permission, he mused. Considering the calculating, pinch eyed glare Ivelisse was giving him.

"You know, you should really cover that up," she said, pinching her eyes harder and leaning in and up, to closer than Puma'd thought was a polite distance. Although, maybe to Ivelisse, polite had a different definition when you'd just watched her perform what may have been the entirety of a sacred, private ritual. Gulp.  
"Is that a **_boot print_**?" She backed up, raising her hands and giving a good head shake, "I don't want to know. You do you, Gato, but be aware: If you walk around with bruises in plain sight, people are _going_ to notice, and the people in **this** business tend to take advantage of things they 'notice'." She cocked her head and put her hands on her hips in a defiant pose. "Or, they try, anyway."

Puma blinked at her, still a bit distracted by just how many different changes she'd made to the shades and planes of her face in such a short time. That was skill. Plain and simple.

"Something tells me you already have some experience in that... area?" She said, tone a hair less severe.

It was Puma's turn to give a head cock, unsure to what 'area' Ivelisse was making reference.

When she realized he wasn't going to react further, she rolled her eyes and relaxed her posture back to normal. "Come here. I think I have something in your color." She picked up and handed him the bottle which Puma recognized as the one she'd snapped open first. "Rub a _speck_ of that in while I find what we need, don't be wasting all my moisturizer. You don't need much anyway."

The Champ couldn't help but feel honored, and glad that his neck had dried by then. For Ivelisse to invite him to join in and take part in her ritual? Not even the owner of the Día De Muertos shrine in the attic had offered! Not that they knew Puma knew about the shrine, but this was still a big deal!  
With great care, he squeezed the smallest dollop he could manage from the little bottle's mouth, and rubbed it into his neck.

"We just need to counteract the green undertone and you're in the clear," Ivee explained while riffling around for the correct item with which to enact some appearance altering magic on Puma. This was gonna be _awesome_.  
Ivelisse plucked up a squat little bottle and turned to her volunteered canvas. Her expression unsoured some when she looked up at him. "Not bad. Son of Havoc usually smears that stuff on as if he's greasing up for some old school Greco Roman wrestling."

Puma grinned at the praise. Heehee, if it turned out he was good at this, maybe Ivee would apprentice him? Teach him the dark- uh, the arts?

"Don't get cocky, this is where it gets tricky." Puma put on a serious front, which his excitement sluiced through more obviously than even Ivee's amusement through her fronted annoyance.  
"This tender?" She asked, motioning to the vaguely boot shaped mark.

Puma hesitated, not sure what the 'correct' answer was in this situation.

Ivelisse gave another eye roll, "I'll take that as a, ' **Hell** yeah!'." She mirrored Puma's acknowledging smirky grimace, and grabbed his close hand to put the bottle into. "Here: best way to learn is to do, anyway." Then she poked around her shrine and grabbed a nearly identical bottle and held it up for Puma to see.  
"Monkey- _Gato_ see, Gato do. Follow?"

Puma nodded, then unscrewed the lid from his bottle as Ivee did so for hers.

"Good. Now, I don't usually bother with marks under clothing, but today I'll make an exception. On account of me not wanting to apply it on your _delicate_ skin too hard. I hate it when grown Luchdores cry."

Puma was _pretty_ sure some part of that was a joke. The question was: which part?

Ivelisse hiked up the bottom of her shirt, revealing a well on its way to healed bruise, about the size of your average knee cap. Ouch.  
She made sure the hem wasn't about to roll back down, and exaggerated the act of loading up her index fingertip with some Ivee toned paste from her mysterious 'cosmetic' container.  
Puma did the same. But with the Puma toned paste.

Ivelisse showed Puma how to dab it evenly over the 'discoloration' -fancy word for bruise-, how to blend it in, and that you needed some sort of powder, "No! Not baking flour! What is _wrong_ with- Ugh! **This** kind of _powder_. Optimally in _your_ color, but pretty much any shade'll do in a pinch."

More than anything, Puma had been a tad shocked that Ivee had understood when he slapped his hands together twice in a rhythmic, palms facing each other, one goes up while the other goes down and they clap in the middle, way.  
Really, he conceded, that's kinda how the pizza chef on tv looked between kneading the dough and throwing it ten feet in the air at least six times.  
Talk about coordination.

Ivelisse even let Puma use the same powder brush after she'd demonstrated the proper way to not 'jack it up'. After that, they admired each other's handiwork. Puma wondering where exactly Ivee's 'discoloration' had gone -trying to understand how it had disappeared so thoroughly actually _hurt_ his brain-, and Ivelisse nodding in a 'not disappointed' fashion.

"Yeah, it'll do," she said, turning down the hem of her shirt. Then she turned to begin the last rite of the ritual: Clean up.  
Every bottle, magic 'cosmetic' wand, and tube, was summarily shoved back into the waterproof bag, nestled atop the rest of what was in the duffel, and zipped away. Until such time that the magic wore off and the ritual would require... a renewal? How many days would this stuff last?  
Before Puma could figure a way to ask Ivee the question burning hottest in his mind, in a way which she would understand though, she spoke.

"Remember to wash that stuff off before going to sleep _esta noche_. You don't want it clogging up your pores." At a befuddled look from the Champ, she added, "That's the tiny holes that let your skin breath."

Puma made an, "Oh," face, to which Ivee rolled her eyes.

"Take care of yourself. Okay, Puma?" Puma cocked his head and sent Ivelisse the most powerful air of befuddlement he could, while teetering his palm up hands at around waist height.  
Ivee gave a sigh and slung the not too big duffle's strap over one shoulder. "When we got in, Johnny Mundo asked me and Son of Havoc whether we'd seen you since your last fight." She noted the look of concern flit across Puma's face at the news.  
"Havoc blew him off; _I_ told him to stick it where the sun don't shine." She grinned at the memory of the zinger, the reaction on Mundo's face enough to brighten any of her days, then looked her freshest canvas straight in the eyes. "You need... any help with him?"

Puma's expression morphed a few different ways after that question. Shock made an appearance, so did incredulity, but it settled closer to understanding and denial as he started shaking his head and pointing where the well concealed 'discoloration' sat.

"It's fine. Like I said, 'I don't _want_ to know'. But me and Son of Havoc are always happy to lay the beat down on any scumbag deserves it. Just let us know." The face she made at him then was equivalent unto that of a wrathful God. Only, not directed _at_ him. That made all the difference.

Puma shook his head again and aborted his attempt at a proper explanation when he once again remembered that Ivelisse didn't understand ASL. Then he felt the weight of something in his hand and nearly had a conniption as he shoved it out towards an obviously ready to take her leave Ivee.

"Naw. It's your color and you're gonna _want_ it the next few days. That mark's gonna stick around a while, by the looks of it. And," she raised a finger in a, 'One more thing,' fashion, "a word of advise, one fighter to another: Cover the bruises before you leave home, do anything more when you _feel_ like it." Then she winked and turned on a heel to walk out the door. Sending a wave behind her as an afterthought.

Wow.

Wait. What was it _exactly_ that Ivelisse, 'Didn't want to know about'?  
Eh, she was gone and done with him anyway. Must not have been that important if she didn't bother explaining.

Puma walked out of the bathroom, _pretty_ sure he was still disease free, and with his head held high. Then proceeded to skulk quickly in the opposite direction of the gym as the sound of 'I really need to go' steps echoed toward him.  
Yeah, his problems weren't over by a long shot. But at least he wasn't gonna have that bruisy reminder staring back at him in the mirror every day. Thanks to Ivelisse's kind, generous, extremely aggressive nature.

Puma wound his way around the facility, back to the locker room and reverently slipped the squat container of 'cosmetic' magic into his duffel. With a smile on his face, and the knowledge that he had a short window of opportunity in which he could steal through the gym and snatch the speed rope without fear of detection by Johnny Mundo, he jogged off... for the gym.

Drago waved, _"Good Morning,"_ and tracked Puma's progress across the practice pads, over to the speed rope cubby, and out the secret door. He got a wave back for his efforts, at least.

"Hey, Drago. Was that- Did that door just shut itself?" Asked a fresh from the bathroom Johnny Mundo.

Drago gave him a _look_ , and shrugged.

Johnny stared at him, unsure how to feel about that... answer, but deciding that holding it against the dragon man was not the best way to stay in his good graces. He liked the _friendly_ Drago, thank you very much.  
So he led with a sigh and said simply, "Yeah. That's what I thought."

Drago cracked a grin and tackled a body double dummy to the practice mat. That dummy was never getting up again.  
Yep. Johnny liked the friendly Drago.

The remainder of Johnny's day in the Temple was whittled away with more training, a lunch break during which he was basically held up by Son of Havoc and Ivelisse for his entire two person lunch, leaving him with nothing but a mini cup of yogurt and a tiny, slightly shriveled orange. Both of which he'd scrounged out of the bowels of the cantina's wheezing refrigerator.  
Needless to say, he was left feeling... unsatisfied. He had, after all, bought that food with two very different Luchadores in mind.  
Followed up by more training and some rope work practice with Sexy Star, who _definitely_ didn't hold up her agreement to Johnny that she'd, "Treat him gently."  
Evidently, the Luchadora did _not_ appreciate being asked the whereabouts of coworkers in broken Spanish. She seemed to like it even less when Johnny asked _again_ in seventy percent of normal speed English.  
Maybe Johnny needed to rethink his technique? Because he'd been getting bad reactions from everyone he'd asked that day. He'd even had his lunch stolen.

After that rather painful though instructive sparring session with the Star, and a good cool down, he left the Temple for home. Once again wondering where in the world Puma could be, and why he'd felt as if the answer might have been, "Right behind you," a few times through the day.

The remainder of Puma's day at the Temple was similarly unimpressive. Speed rope practice up on the highest of the catwalks above the main ring, followed by climbing every available ladder with rungs that didn't appear as if **looking** at them too long would give you tetanus -that meant about half of them-, and a cat nap underneath the ring with the famous aztec symbol emblazoned in the middle.  
Konnan wouldn't be happy about how dirty his freshly conditioned mask got with him rolling around among the proliferative dust bunnies. He hadn't been able to help himself though. They were too cute! And they needed the company. He could now attest: it got lonely laying around down there all on your lonesome.

"Someone in here?" A strong voice echoed through the bleachers and under the ring. Right down to where Puma was wrangling a small nest of fluffy critters. The Champ froze, and held his breath, because that was the dulcet tone of none other than Johnny Mundo.  
"Temple's closing soon... Anyone there?" Puma counted to fifteen before he heard the hesitant scrapings of Mundo relenting and walking to the exit. Only then did he breathe a lungful of sweet relief. And at least half a dust bunny. He nearly choked.

Puma made slow work of swallowing the mouthful of dust and extracting himself from under the ring, before heading to the bathroom to wash off some of the gritty dirt from his _entire_ body, and the locker room to grab his duffel, then out the door and off to pay one last visit to el hospital.

Once outside the security exit, Puma felt a little bounce brighten his step. Konnan would be free of his comfy prison tomorrow! He'd be coming in with Puma to the Temple, and Puma was pretty sure that that was gonna make all the difference in the world!

Tomorrow was gonna be a piece of cake.

 **Hopefully, no one is too unhinged by the way things have spiraled. I know Puma and Johnny aren't doing too well, and I know there have to be some folks out there who are** ** _so_** **ready for the whole situation to be cleaned up, straightened out and thrown out with last week's garbage, but as you must know by now: Fate can be cruel indeed.**  
 **Cross your fingers for some resolution in the near future!  
Meantime, I hope to have a this little bonus chapter up within a couple of days!**  
 **Thanks for stopping by!**  
 **~Anonymous**


	5. Puma's Acceptance Part Two: Last Visit

**Dinner time in Boyle Heights, baby! Hope ya'll enjoy the bonus chapter!**

Evening found Johnny Mundo _almost_ enjoying a quiet TV dinner alone in his third story apartment. Strange choice of food, considering he wasn't watching tv. Nor sitting in the tv room.  
In fact, he'd taken his perfectly microwaved platter of spaghetti and 'meatballs' out onto the patio -read: fire escape landing-, wanting a little air along with his preservatives.

He punctuated every sticky swallow with a deep sigh, and wiped his saucey mouth with the back of his hand once he'd polished off the last of the red, stringy mess.  
His biggest sigh came right before a radical burp, which just so happened to emerge at sufficient decibels to scare a few pigeons out of the eves right above him.  
He ducked back inside his apartment in the nick of time, as two little birdie poops landed right outside his window. Just as his foot cleared the sill. One white glob scoring double points by splatting smack dab in the center of his empty TV tray. Covering his reusable spoon in... bird doody.

He'd never look at pigeons the same way again. Nor at that spoon, for that matter.

He heaved another sigh and set to cleaning up the unfortunate aftermath of his underwhelming din-din.  
Counteracting the tedium of scrubbing bird droppings from his 'patio' with happy thoughts of what kind of good time his unaccounted for friend might be having at that exact same moment.  
He hoped Prince Puma wasn't also fated to eating alone.

Johnny smiled to himself as he dumped the refuse into his little kitchen trash can. Yeah. Puma was prolly having a great time. Wherever he was.

Turned out: Mundo hadn't been far off.

Over in the non emergency wing of the Lucha Underground Temple's go-to hospital, Konnan was surprising Puma with a fresh 'leftover' banana pudding cup. By the look on the Champ's face, you'd think Christmas had come early.

"Tranquilízate, chico. Here," Konnan, not having bothered _asking_ whether Puma'd fed himself -because obviously, like any self respecting, responsible person did on _instinct_ ; he _hadn't_ -, placed a clean spoon, with patient deliberation, into Puma's scooping hand.  
"You gonna use that? He asked a befuddled Luchador. "Or am I gonna hav'ta feed you myself?"

That got a horrified head shake and nod and shake and nod, followed by a very clear 'gimme' motion. At which Konnan squinted, just to let the kid know he was serious about using the spoon, before relenting and passing over the unopened cup.

Puma took it, nearly dropping the spoon in his excitement, then nearly dropping it a second time trying to get the pudding open, and finally remembering which end of the spoon got you the biggest mouthful of sweet, sweet victory, he began 'eating'.  
More like inhaling, Konnan mused privately, as he watched, with far less trepidation this evening, his protégé polish off the whole thing nearly as quickly, though hindered some by the spoon. He was proud enough with the improvement that he didn't even _try_ to stop Puma from using the handle of the spoon to scrape the last molecules of yellowish slime from the inside of the cup and into his waiting maw.  
He _did_ think that then sucking on the spoon as if it was a lollipop was taking things a bit... overboard, but the **purring** was just too precious. He couldn't bring himself to break up the kid's fun. Not until Puma started eyeing the empty cup as if he was barely holding himself back from licking the entire inside. There might, after all, still be a little pudding _flavor_ left behind!

"Okay, snack time's over," Konnan said, pulling himself out of his chair and snatching both the utensil and empty cup from Puma before the kid did anything he couldn't forgive him for.  
After tossing them across the room and scoring two pointers off the backboard into a recycling can, he turned full attention back on Puma. Who only squirmed a little.

"Hm. Mask's looking good. Little dusty, but conditioning came out nice," he said, scrutinizing the stitching to make sure it wasn't puckering. "Just don't dunk it under water again, got it?"

Puma nodded, a convincing amount of genuineness on his face while he did.

"Good. Now, lemme see your neck again. Still hurting?"

Puma hesitated just long enough that Konnan could tell the kid both didn't want to lie to him, and didn't want to worry him. Cute, but this was wrestling, and he was the the kid's trainer, so that coy act was gonna have to stop at some point. Optimally _before_ something truly regrettable happened.  
Well, anything _else_ truly regrettable, anyway.

"Déjame veo," he said, stepping closer and raising his arms in a 'show me' formation.

Puma held in a sigh, knowing this was the only way to get his trainer to stop worrying, and scootched forward to sit at the edge of the bed.

"Hm," Konnan hummed, scrutinizing the younger fighter's neck. Wondering why it looked a little chalky, but remembering before he felt compelled to ask about it, that Puma's whole body and mask looked a bit... dusty.  
What did the kid get up to through the day? Did he _really_ need a babysitter around to keep him on track?  
Eh, tomorrow he'd make sure the Champ stayed out of trouble.

Using both hands, Konnan massaged the Champ's neck in a way which would have felt pretty nice under normal circumstances, or if you had a cold, but as it was, made Puma's eyes water just a tad.  
Puma didn't hold it against him though. He knew his trainer wouldn't do anything of the sort of he didn't think it was necessary. Or, a _good idea_ , anyway. An ounce of prevention, or whatever.

Konnan found no out of the ordinary swelling and nothing which put up red flags, so he nodded and stepped back, vaguely wondering just how dirty the kid had gotten himself. 'Cause he could feel some tackiness on his hands.  
Without making a show of it, being a rather polite person and all, he put his palms up in his line of glasses sight, and had to double take at the sight: They were mottled with what appeared to be Puma toned splotches.

Konnan's eyes nearly bugged from their sockets as he stepped right back up into his protégé's space and found the reason for the slightly chalky parlor.  
There, right smack dab in the middle of everything, was a boot print shaped bruise, still _mostly_ covered by whatever unnatural substance had stained his own hands.  
His blood pressure responded faster than did his ire, and he pointed firmly, not quite sure yet which emotion he was projecting, right at the proof of Puma's trauma.

"You been hiding this from me? Of all the loco- Are you trying to hide _this_ from **me** \- from your **_mentor_**? Puma, baby, that's a good way to get yourself-"

Puma cut him off the best way he knew how: grabbed him by the shoulders and shook his own head, making sure Konnan responded to the pleading look in his eyes and agreed to hear his side before letting go.  
He couldn't afford to let things get out of hand. Not here too.

 _"No. Ivee- Ivelisse helped me! Said people take advantage of things they 'notice'."_ Puma shoved his hands into his hastily unzipped duffel and extracted a little container, which he held out until Konnan took it. _"Gave me that."_

Konnan raised his eyebrows, kinda shocked that the 'Baddest in the Building' had done **any thing** to help out a fellow fighter. Much less the Champ himself.  
He was also... touched that there seemed to be at least one other person in that Temple looking out for his protégé. Though, he'd definitely be keeping an eye on that. Didn't want something treacherous happening there. Puma _was_ , as evidenced by pretty much **everything** , still a pretty naive Luchador.

Puma caught his attention and pointed at the little container, then made an 'O' with one hand, followed by switching the fingers into a peace sign with the thumb between the bunny ears.

"Yeah," said Konnan, handing back the botella de cosméticos. "It's okay. You tell Ivelisse 'thanks'?"

Puma smiled as he zipped the present back into his bag, and shook his head. He hadn't had the chance, now that he thought about it. He'd have to figure out a way to tell her... Maybe writing a note would be best?

"Perdóname, mijo. I should know by now: You don't got a deceptive bone in your _body_." He sat back in his seat, tuckered somewhat by the excitement and his little outburst.  
"That Ivelisse must have a good head on her shoulders, 'cause she's right, kid. Anybody gonna be in a match against you see that moretón, they'll go straight for the Clothes Lines, the Headlocks, anything to mess you up worse," he said, counting off on his fingers. His expression sour.  
"I say keep it up. It was good enough to fool me, it'll do against Cage no sweat."

Puma smiled. Then he slung his duffel up, and stood from the bed, ready to take his leave and give Konnan the rest of his evening to... rest.

Before moving for the door, Puma repeated his question from the last visit. Again ending with his pointer fingers steepled around collar bone level, in the sign for 'Temple'.

"Yeah, I'll be there." Then Konnan waved towards the exit and slumped down into his chair. "Vía con Dios, mijo. Hasta mañana."

Puma brought a soft fist forward in a little arc from his cheek once more, grinned, and headed out the door.

"Tomorrow indeed," Konnan scoffed to himself. "If either of us last that long!"

A nurse who just happened to be passing at that particular moment, peered in with a concerned hue to their questioning look.

"Kids," was Konnan's only defense.

The two shared a conspiratorial head shake, and went about their respective evenings. Neither concerned over the other.  
Concern! That'd been what made Konnan feel so- so... Concern was why he'd nearly bitten his Luchador's head off.  
Hm. He'd have to keep an eye on that. Wouldn't want himself going soft in his retirement. Though, if that was the price he'd have to pay to have Prince Puma as his protégé... It'd be alright by him.  
Probably.  
Some day, anyway.

 **Hope ya'll's dinners are enjoyable too! Hopefully** ** _more_** **so than Johnny's! Poor guy.**  
 **Till next time!**  
 **~Anonymous**


	6. Johnny's Resignation

**Has anyone noticed that nothing seems to go Johnny's way? Do ya think** ** _he's_** **noticed? Probably? Yeah, probably. Poor guy deserves a break in the worst of ways.**

 **Drago's also there, and now that Konnan's back, everyone can come together as one big happy family! Right?** ** _Riiiigghht_** **.**

Morning found Johnny Mundo waltzing in to work, a good night of sleep under his belt and a feeling of excitement in his stomach. Which was also under his belt, incidentally.  
He waved to the security, flashed his Lucha ID, and went straight for the gym. Eager to see whether Puma was in yet.

His excitement both peaked and sank as his eyes fell upon an older gentleman standing with the assistance of a cane, right to the side of the entrance to the 'Lichadores only' work out room. Him being here could mean only one thing, after all: Prince Puma wasn't far.

"Hey, Konnan! Good to see you-"

Konnan cut him off with a sharp look of disdain, making sure to take up enough of the walkway that Johnny was forced to stop in front of him.  
"Hey, you mess with my fighter, you get the cane. Alright, guapo? I known fighters like you my whole career, and fighters like you: spell trouble."

Johnny took a mental step back, noting the way The Barbarian had twitched his cane along with his words, wondering what had gotten into the coach. Then the Spanish registered.  
"You think I'm handsome?"

"Psh," said a rather disturbed Konnan, wondering just how... off someone had to be for _that_ to register above **anything** else he'd said. He pinned Mundo for a few more seconds, his gaze intent, before stepping aside.

"Well, 'morning. I guess," Johnny said, walking past and taking the turn into the gym.

"Gringo loco," Mundo heard bounce through the doorway behind him. But he wasn't gonna let Konnan get him down. Puma was- Yep! There he was; doing warm up stretches on one of the practice mats.

Johnny waved. When Puma noticed the greeting he popped up out of his full lunging splits and looked as if he wasn't sure whether to cut and run, or wave back.

 _"Hi, J,"_ he settled on, still looking as if he wasn't sure it was the right decision, but staying put anyway.

"Hey, Puma." Johnny scratched the back of his own neck in the awkward silence that followed. Not sure where to go from there.  
"Listen, I'm... I'm sorry I didn't make it to the ring on time, and for what happened after-"

Puma cut him off with a firm shake of the head and a full arm gesture which clearly said, "Don't."  
His turn to say something, Puma pointed to the other Luchador, then to himself, then made one hand into the shape of an 'O', then a 'K'.

"So," Johnny started off, "you're not mad about us sharing the old cornflake blanket?"

Puma shook his head, looking just this side of bashful. Johnny was pretty sure he caught a glimpse of a blush around the bottom of the other Luchador's mask.

"Haha, that's good. And here I thought things might get awkward!" Puma and he shared a good laugh about that faux display of nerves they'd put on, and the two took up a good portion of the practice area with their warm ups for the day. Puma being very ginger with his back, for good measure. His bruises still not healed from the Powerbombing Cage had given him the night of his title defending fight against Fénix.

Good thing no one else was there yet to break up their fun.

That had been over a week ago, and _this_ morning, there was no waltz to Johnny's step, no excitement in his belly, and no vim in his greeting for security.  
He went straight for the gym, eager to get his mind off the less than stellar night he'd had. Too much worry in his dreams for his liking.  
As he approached, he thought he could hear the sound of someone already going to town on a speedbag. That meant someone was here before him! Mundo's footsteps quickened.

His heart caught in his chest when came into sight the outline of an older gentleman, standing before the entrance of the gym. A cane clutched in one hand, to keep him steady.  
Him being there could mean only one thing: Prince Puma wasn't far.  
The tension in Johnny's body both peaked and waned with the revelation.

"Hey, Konnan! Good to have you ba-" Johnny cut himself off when the faulty lighting of the hallway flickered just right to throw Konnan's face into stark relief, revealing both a shiny set of stitches sewn into his forehead, and one of the ugliest looks Johnny'd ever had directed at him. Outside of that one time he'd forgotten to tip the wait staff at a Denny's right off the 110 freeway in downtown- Never mind.  
It was a dark look, bordering on threatening, and he had no idea _why_ it was where it was, facing the direction it was.

Konnan took an aggressive step towards Johnny, positioning himself such that no one could pass him, and shaking his head with a cold deliberation. His eyes never straying from Johnny's face.

"You... feeling alright, Konnan? Is Puma here with y-"

"¡Silencio! You don't talk about my fighter," Konnan _just_ didn't yell, punctuating the demand with a thump of his rubber cane tip against the concrete floor.  
At Johnny's full step back, Konnan pinched the bridge of his own nose, not even removing his glasses to do so, and spake, "Mundo, you gotta learn that your actions have consequences. You promise someone you'll be somewhere, you can't just bail without giving a heads up. Promises aren't the kind of thing you give and break with a cavalier grin. To some people: they're important." He dropped the hand, seemingly in order to have an unobstructed view of the man he was tearing a... tearing down.  
"Trust is built and broken off those kinds of promises, man," Konnan moved closer, a very _not happy_ finger coming up to poke Johnny square in the chest.  
"You really messed the kid up. He's off his game and- No," he shut down Johnny's attempt at an interjection, "the Champ doesn't wanna talk to you- he doesn't even wanna _see_ you, pendejo. It's gonna take a lot more than a pint of milk to get you back in that kid's good books, and if I'm being honest: I'm glad he learned not to trust you _this_ early on. Save him from some **real** heartache down the road."

Johnny backed another step, stunned to silence by the hardest shutdown he'd ever received. While extending an olive branch, anyway.  
Konnan wasn't interested in hearing his side of the story, the events that had kept him from attending; the prison he'd been stuffed into and left to rot for hours in the darkness of. And... what if what he was saying was one hundred percent true?  
Looked like Johnny was outmatched in this standoff.

With a reluctance more powerful than he'd felt in as long as he could remember, Johnny Mundo, Ender of Worlds, raised his hands in acquiescence and walked backwards down the hall, to the safety of the locker room.

He heard an unhappy, "Gringo loco," followed by an expectoration, echo after him as he turned the corner and slapped his tush onto the first solid surface he found.  
Vaguely pleased that it happened to be a bench and not a trash can, he heaved a huge breath and hung his head. His hair creating a curtain, through which the world around him was difficult to see. Which was fine by him. Hmph!

Johnny screwed up his face and gave the floor a big frown.

Puma didn't want to talk to him?

It was too bad Johnny wasn't British, because he could really use a little of that 'Stiff Upper Lip' mojo right around then.

Puma didn't want to _see_ him?

Puma thought he'd **lied** when he said he'd be there.

Well, it was official. Johnny Mundo was the biggest loser in the Temple, and being the 'biggest loser in the Temple', how could he possibly **hope** to win in a battle against cosmic forces that felt as if they were setting the _universe_ against him?

How could he afford to _lose_ when the prize was a commodity as precious to him as Puma's... friendship?  
A friendship he could _feel_ slipping farther away with every passing moment.

A big, fat droplet plipped into existence between his feet as Johnny thought about just last week, and how he and Puma had spent lunch times and water breaks together. Joking and making _real_ attempts at communicating, embracing the language barrier and... forging something that felt like it should have, someday, if given a chance to take root, stood the test of time.

Instead, like little boats on the ebb of oceans, Johnny and Puma had been pulled out to sea and all their lines cut. Set adrift, with a storm and a sea monster between them.

At least... if Konnan had been telling the truth. But, aside from the trainer hating Mundo from day one, what reason did he have to lie?

Johnny's back tensed up, an attempt at preventing his shoulders from trembling along with his diaphragm, which he was trying to get to relax and work with him.  
He could pass off sitting there with his hair for cover as normal enough, but not if people could _see_ his shoulders shaking.  
Oh, for the love of- now he was sniffling! That was about the biggest give away on the planet! Unless he could pass it off as allergies? Not likely, considering he'd once bragged that he was immune to every allergen known to the human race. To the entire locker room.  
He needed to work on that big mouth of his...

But in the mean time, he was occupied enough working on unclenching his fists. His fingernails were starting to hurt his palms. Plus, he was kinda busy trying to calm down his racing mind. Clear it of the foul thoughts clogging up the passageways, the way Konnan clogged the passage to his... to the Champ, Prince Puma.

If only he'd had a chance to explain himself. But then again, he hadn't shown when he'd said he- **promised** he would.  
Maybe _that_ was the end of it? The end of he and Puma's... friendship.

No! He needed confirmation, darn it! Without corroboration, how could he believe someone who'd never given him a friendly pass? How-

A rough hand lit upon one barely shaking shoulder. Johnny's reaction was instant.

He batted away the appendage and jumped off the bench as if cattle prodded. On instinct, putting some distance between himself and his would be- Oh. It was just Drago. A confused, uncomfortable looking Drago.

"¿Estás bien?"

From Drago's expression of pure discomfiture, Johnny just _knew_ he must look a mess. Probably all snot drippy nose, puffy eyes and-  
Wait! Drago was _exactly_ the Luchador he needed to see!

Inadvertently _ignoring_ Drago's considerate question, Johnny swiped the backs of two different hands across his face, both coming away... moistened, and begged his own, far more pressing question.  
"Does Puma not want to see me?"

"Yo no sé," a befuddled Drago ground out, with no small amount of hesitation. The question _did_ feel pretty non sequitur. Johnny had to give Drago props for rolling with the weirdness as well as he had. But he didn't have the will power to hold back and give him a proper explanation.

"You and Puma are friends, right?" Johnny got a nod. "Alright. Then for Puma's sake, _please_ tell me: Does he not want me around?" He stared at Drago, attempting to will an answer from the only one in the Temple who'd seemed to be in his corner over the last few days.

Drago, who felt quite strongly as if he was caught up in something he didn't have enough information about to be a good person to ask for information _from_ , struggled to find anything to say.  
It showed on his horned face; the unwillingness to volunteer what little he _did_ know. Johnny saw the indecision plain as day, and it made something click in a dark space at the back of his mind. A thought which he'd been ignoring, for fear of it being... correct.

"Has- has he been," Johnny gulped past a forming lump in his throat. Did he _really_ wanna go down that rabbit hole?  
No. But he **needed** to. So Johnny squared his shoulders and asked Drago the question he hadn't yet dared ask _himself_.  
"Has Puma been avoiding me?" He was only slightly ashamed of the crackle that shook his question.

Drago _**really**_ didn't want to be there, with a sniffling Johnny Mundo demanding to know whether things he barely knew about _himself_ were so.  
This would be so much easier in Dragon Tongue. But as it was, he couldn't even use his preferred human language of ASL to communicate what little he _had_ been privy to, regarding Mundo's fevered line of interrogation.  
Well, he _could_ , but Mundo'd understand so little of it that it'd be an exercise in futility.

"Drago," the horned Luchador met Johnny's reddish eyes at the use of his name. It was almost painful to hear it spoken in that tone. One of desperation laced with... heartache.  
" _Please_ , has Puma been avoiding me? Has he been in and just... avoided me?"

He couldn't stand that look a moment longer.

"Si... pero yo no sé porqué. Él- _Puma_ no dijo cuándo-" he broke off to clear his throat, then thought that maybe, for Johnny's sake, he should try a little English.  
"Puma did not say when I asked hi-" Drago held in a cough, and took a moment to massage his vocal chordal area.

Johnny made a half step toward the dragon man, lifting a hand and looking a tad concerned. "You need some water?" He got a head shake so he went back to parade rest, hoping that the remainder of what Drago had to say would also be in English.

"First, 'buenos días, Puma'. Then I see you. Puma is gone." He made a 'where did he go' motion with his entire, scaled upper body. "Then I see Puma, he says 'retiro táctico', then we," he gestures between Johnny and himself, "heavy bag."

Johnny's eyes glint as he places Drago's story in the chain of events that made up his abysmal last few days. "Tactical retreat?" Drago nodded. "Why would he do that? I brought lunch. Didn't he want some?"

Again, Drago wished Johnny were asking someone who was fluent in _spoken_ languages, but he also conceded to himself that no one else in the Temple, aside from their topic of discussion, knew more than he did. So he took a crack at it.  
"Yo no se- I dunno why. When Puma hurt you footsteps, he ran awa-" This time he clutched at his throat and broke off in a hacking cough.  
This was why he hated speaking with his mouth parts! The air always got garbled up, sent down the wrong tubes on the way out!  
Ouch.

"Uh, Drago?" This time, all Johnny got was a painful sounding retch, ending in a snarl and a doubled over Luchador trying to catch his breath.  
"Here," he took Drago cautiously by one arm and maneuvered him over to the closest bench. "Looks like you could use a sit down. What's up, amigo?"

Drago sat roughly and was a _little_ preoccupied with trying to **not** belch up a hefty fireball to respond immediately.  
Still, through the haze of discomfort and careful concentration, he took note of Johnny Mundo's concern _for_ as opposed to _over_ him. Hm. Most people scrambled if he started doing anything _remotely_ dragon-esque. Except Puma. And Johnny, he amended.  
Huh. Maybe his spotter wasn't as annoying as he came off, after all?

"You _sure_ you don't need some water?"

Never mind. He was **really** annoying.

Drago, eyes watering, fingers gripping the edge of the bench underneath him hard enough to leave little dents, let out a tiny, high pitched burp.

Johnny noted, with incredulity, the shimmer of heat waves that accompanied the comical sound, and figured that sticking a hand near Drago's face right about then _might_ just be a good way to get yourself burned. So, he stayed put and waited for Drago to collect himself.  
Or, at least, that's what it _looked_ like his bud was doing, anyway.  
He leaned back though when a **hot** wave of rotten egg smell hit him full in the face, nearly singeing his nose hairs clean off.

"Woah," he couldn't keep from slipping out.

Drago's far away eyes snapped to, and for a second, Johnny wasn't sure whether he should be worried. But the scale rimmed orbs of his gym buddy softened and a couple fangs were exposed in a way Johnny'd come to recognize as 'friendly'. So everything was good on that front.

"Um, gas?" Asked Johnny.

Drago slipped a few more teeth into view and gave a shrug, loosening his grip on the edge of the bench and flexing his hands.  
Before Johnny could think of another 'yes, no, maybe' question to ask, the seated Luchador made to shed a little light on the situation. Slowly.

Drago put both forearms in font of himself, vertically, with splayed palms facing his torso, then wiggled his fingers in shimmery back and forth motions, moving his arms in out of sync, up and down motions.

"Fire?" Johnny got a nod. "Cool!" He sounded a little _excited_ compared to the level of difficulty, but, Drago mused, at least he _got_ it.

Next Drago closed his hands while making his forearms face the floor and moving his elbows out to the sides, leaving the pointer fingers extended, and poked the fingers together a couple times.

Johnny resisted scratching his head and took a stab at it. "Poke? Prick?"

Drago repeated the sign, exaggerating a grimace as he did.

"Uh... poke, prick, stick," Johnny mumbled to himself. He mulled it around in his head a bit, taking the look of... pain maybe, on Drago's face into consideration and coming up with- oh, right.  
"Ouch? Pain? Hurt?"

Drago gave a couple nods and repeated both signs, then pointed at his own neck.

"There's _actual_ _ **fire**_ hurting your throat?!"

Drago shrugged an affirmation which said about as clearly as possibly, "Well, when you put it that way..." He also took note of the extra concerned, if not off put, look blooming on Johnny's still not quite scared face.  
Hm. The guy wasn't backing for the door. Odd. But if he wasn't afraid of a Luchador with a Dragon Soul who spoke almost exclusively ASL and Spanish, then adding a little fire to the mix might not feel like such a big turn off in a gym buddy.  
Hm. Maybe Mundo wasn't _quite_ as super annoying as he seemed.

"So, you're **sure** you don't need any water?"

Really? Drago couldn't help himself needing a moment to process just how- that was the _third time_ \- how many times was he going to have to say 'no'!? Didn't anyone think before speaking around here?  
Simple equation: What happens when you add water to a super heated, overinflated fire sack? Right!? You get huge amounts of potentially _flesh melting_ steam!  
Did he want some water my-

In the wake of Drago's protracted silence, Johnny made a judgment call.  
"Stay put, I'll grab a bottle," he said, to a Drago who had given up trying to explain his personal situation to the mundo and was just gonna stare at him until he either: left him alone, or started talking sense again.

Johnny slipped right past the gym on his way down the hall, resisting the compulsion to peek in and see how things were going. It sounded like Puma was getting a good work out, anyway. So... that was good for him.

He reached the 'fridge' in the cantina and pulled out a 'cool' water bottle, realized that he felt decidedly dehydrated from the little... episode he'd had, snatched a juice box while he was at it, and drank the whole thing in one big pull.  
That hit the spot!

Rather satisfied with that, he plopped the empty, crumpled box into the cantina trash can and turned to go. His leg stopped in mid air, in mid stride, as his mind caught up with his body.  
Something he'd seen just then, in the trash, reminded him of something Konnan had said...

Johnny reached into the unsanitary heap which was barely balancing atop the capacity limit of the little trash can, and uncovered an unopened, unappreciated, barely even 'cool' to the touch, carton of milk. The very same one which he'd markered up with Puma in mind.  
Puma, the Luchador who _never_ let milk go to waste! Unless, of course, the milk resembled cottage cheese.  
Johnny gave the carton a shake, just to be sure, and low and be hold: no cottage cheese sound. This was likely still perfectly good milk. And for Puma to have chucked it without bothering to open it first?  
Things were getting hard core around here.

Johnny dropped the milk back on the pile of refuse, watched it sink like the heavy, misbegotten, dead weight that it was, and punched the side of the refrigerator. Only hard enough that he wouldn't hurt himself. Which just so happened to be exactly what the poor machine needed to jump start its practically fossilized engine into 'go time'.  
Remembering he was grabbing water for someone else, Johnny took a handful of calming breaths, and bit his lip all the way back to the locker room.

He could tell by the sounds of Konnan's instructions as he walked by the gym that Puma was far too busy to notice him trudge past, so he didn't bother to... bother. Just kept his eyes down and took the turn back to where Drago was still sitting. Still giving him that incredulous, blank stare.

"Here," he said, holding out the water bottle. When the other Luchador made no move to take it, Johnny broke the seal and twisted the top off for him, thinking maybe that was the hang up.  
Unfortunately, that situation was reminding him of something he wanted badly _not_ to be thinking about right then.  
Puma and he had shared a bottle of electrolyte goo in a similar setting only- No. That was the past. Puma wasn't- Puma didn't want to-

He was still just _standing_ there holding out an opened water bottle to someone who had no intention of taking it from him, wasn't he?  
Yup. Awkward.  
Now he was getting kind of worried for Drago; the poor guy was doing a whole lot of nothing for someone who usually couldn't be **pried** away from his choice of gym equipment.  
He was still _sitting_ right where he'd left him.

"Um," Johnny set the water bottle and lid in easy reach on the bench, in case Drago just wasn't ready for it yet. "Ya know -and I bet you already _do_ , know-, uh, if you're sick... you might wanna take a day to rest." He put both hands up in front of himself and raised his eyebrows, in an 'it's up to you' gesture. "Sometimes it's good to stay home when you're sick."

Johnny had a point. Drago might set fire to something if he didn't get this 'flare up' under tight control and keep it that way.

Looking at Mundo with a mite more intent now, Drago pointed to himself then made an interesting sign which looked sort of like the playtime "Look at me, I'm a monkey," thing kids did.  
But no, it was more specific than that: both hands held relaxed with the middle finger bent, then simultaneously one was touched to the forehead and the other to the chesty diaphragm area.

"...You're sick?" Stab in the dark. Almost. But it got him the nod.

Drago then pointed at Johnny and made the same sign a second time.

"Wait. Are you saying _I'm_ sick?" He barely even waited for the confirmation, pretty sure he'd gotten that one right. "Nuh uh, Drago, mi amigo. _You're_ the one around here that needs to go home and-"

Drago cut him off with an arm motion. _"I'm sick in the throat,"_ he said, Johnny able to follow along now that he knew the signs.  
 _"You're sick in the-"_

"Breast? Drago, what are you-"

Drago cut him off again, _not_ getting just a little ticked at the whole **barely** being able to communicate thing, and tried again. This time ending the statement not with tapping his 'breast' twice, but by using the tips of both index fingers to draw a well recognized shape in the same area.

"Sick in the- You think I'm _heartsick_?" His voice totally didn't jump to a fifth above middle 'c'. Nope. It stayed completely normal.

Drago nodded and signed it again to drive the point home while _someone_ could understand him. Johnny Mundo showed all the symptoms, after all, and really should be seeking treatment. If left undiagnosed or neglected, such an ailment could significantly undermine the quality of life a human could expect. He'd read about it once.  
Unless that was heart _disease_ , but- Naw. He was pretty sure it was heartsickness.

Johnny's turn to stare, mouth open like a Venus fly trap's; eyes- oh. Well there was proof positive.

 _"You're crying."_

"No I'm not," denied tersely by a Mundo who'd had no trouble interpreting two index fingers being dragged down from your eyes multiple times.  
He swiped at his own eyes for good measure.  
So the fingers came away a little... not dry; that didn't mean he was crying!  
"Allergies," he said with a sniff.

Drago shook his head slowly, a grin beginning to grow across his face. A grin that Johnny didn't like the looks of. Too... conspiratorial.

 _"You heart P-"_

"Do **not** finish that sentence!"

The look on Johnny's face was just too much for the Dragon Luchador, who let out several self satisfied chuckles. And at least one snort.

"Uh-huh, laugh it up while you can, man. I hope you like knuckle sandwiches for lun-"

Johnny never finished that empty threat, because he was busy jumping back from the hot as an oven, overpowering rotten egg smell brought on by another comical eructation.  
He would have laughed **hard** at that sound if it weren't pretty obvious that Drago'd narrowly avoided setting him on fire. And that the guy was kinda in pain.

"Okay, I think we've both had enough of this place for one 'sick' day. Ya need me to walk you to the door?" He got a derisive snort for that one. "Fine. Ya _want_ me to walk you to the door?"

Drago rolled his eyes in a pretty nice approximation of the human, "suit yourself," expression, and held out a hand.  
Johnny lit up, just a tad, at the show of trust. He took the hand and helped the Dragon man to his feet, falling in beside him as the blue accented Luchador headed out the locker room and toward the Temple exit.

Johnny held in a giggle as Drago growled at security -classic Drago!-, then he flashed his own badge at the trembling personnel and sent them consoling looks.  
They _really_ needed to stop asking to see the **Dragon's** ID.

As the warmth of a downtown Los Angeles morning -or afternoon, or whatever- sun scalded his eyes, Johnny held in a tear of vision related pain and bade his gym buddy, "Feel better soon."  
He got a confident nod for his troubles, as well as a, "You too," looking gesture.

Then, the two very different Luchadores parted ways, and Johnny realized that for the first time that week, he'd left work early. Feeling depressed... and a bit mixed up and swirled around.

What Drago'd said, right before Johnny'd threatened to pack him a knuckle sandwich, was ridiculous! Right? How could he, Johnny Mundo, Ender of Worlds... 'heart' Prince Puma?

And besides, no matter how outlandishly un... _realistic_ that possibility was: Puma had made his stance on the matter plain as the nose on his, uh, mask. He didn't want Johnny around. Didn't even want to accept perfectly good _milk_ from him.  
If that wasn't a rejection, Johnny wasn't sure what was.

So Johnny hung his head and hoped for a better tomorrow. Scuffing his sneakers all the way through the park, as he made for home. Completely unaware that the intended recipient of his gift hadn't been the one to throw it away. In fact: Prince Puma had never _seen_ the carton of milk, signed with care by el Mundo himself. Puma hadn't visited the cantina in days.

 **Wow. That happened. I feel sorry for all the enmascarados!  
On a potentially happier note: Anyone interested in seeing how Konnan's morning went? What was that? A resounding chorus of, "Yes, please!"? Alrighty then! I should have Konnan's very own bonus chapter up within a day or two! Until then, hope everyone's having a great week/weekend!**


	7. Grand Theft Konnan

**How did Konnan's morning work out? Why was he so darn mad? Why don't the lights in the Temple work worth a snot?**  
 **Find out some of that and much more in this exciting bonus chapter!**

Konnan felt pretty good the morning the hospital staff gave him his walking papers. He still had a few days to help Puma train for his upcoming match against Cage. Which, thank the Lord, _wasn't_ a title defending match.

On his way out, he took a little of his own advice and lifted a good half dozen sealed pudding cups from a food trolley. Smirking on the inside, he played up his dependence on his cane, and just as expected, other people opened any non-automatic doors for the 'pobre abuelito' with his free arm full of snacks 'for his nietós.' "Qúe precioso!"  
Heh heh, worked every time.

He coordinated a beautiful near fumble next to a nurses station in pediatrics, and was gifted a reusable bag for his troubles. "Por el presentes!"  
The best part of it: the only thing he needed to say, all the way to the front door, was 'Gracias'. No lying necessary. _That's_ how you play to a crowd!

Konnan arrived at the security entrance of the Temple just as the personnel were unlocking things for the morning. Intent on inspecting the equipment before his protégé got there and tried to get him to 'loosen up; nothing's gonna break and squish me'.  
God, that kid could be annoying. But for the most part, it was the trusting nature that Konnan was annoyed by. He knew the kind of trouble that specific personality... let's not call it a _defect_ per se, could get a Luchador into. Current troubles, for example.

Konnan poked his head in the locker room, swept his eyes up, down, left, right, came up with nothing out of the ordinary, and continued on to the cantina.  
For the most part, none of the Luchadores stored anything in the fridge. Or 'fridge', as many called it. On an average day, the only things you'd find in there were things that wouldn't go bad if the 'fridge' decided to turn itself off for a few hours. Or days.  
So mostly water, with the odd juice box or carton of milk, or jar of lambs blood mixed in there.

Konnan therefore was not surprised to find a carton of milk staring him directly in the face when he opened the door. He stared back at it long enough though that most of the cold air the wimpy fridge had managed to build up over night was let out, leaving the inside only 'cool' for the foreseeable future.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me. What is that bastardo thinking?!" Hoping against hope that Prince Puma, or any of the other fighters for that matter, hadn't already seen the shameless play for dominance, Konnan grabbed the carton and chucked it into the short 'kitchen' trash can. For good measure, he poked it with his cane so that it wasn't at the top of the overflowing bin.  
Did no one throw out the trash around there?

And what kind of power trip was that Luchador _on_? Putting his **brand** next to the Champ's name!?

Konnan grit his teeth as he turned back to the fridge, now certain that he was gonna have to lay down the law with this Mundo character. He could no longer just stand to the side and let 'grown ups' be grown ups, and he _certainly_ couldn't let Mundo ruin **milk** for Puma. As the kid's mentor... he was obligated to- he _needed_ to do what he could to keep the kid safe.  
Unfortunately, happiness didn't always accompany safety. The world wasn't that nice a place. Not by a long shot.

He scoffed, cursed Mundo once more, and bundled up his multiple pudding present for storage in the 'fridge'.  
If he knew Luchadores, and he was confident he did, not a one of them in this Temple would dare touch the "Welcome Baby!" pastel yellow tote bag on the middle shelf. Not out of curiosity, and not even if they were pretty confident it had something tasty someone else was trying to hide in it.  
Which was exactly what was going on here. Puma deserved something to cheer him up, and Konnan was looking forward to the excited face his protégé was sure to pull when his mentor yanked one of these bad babies out for him at lunch time.

"Heh heh," Konnan chuckled as he shut the door that looked as if it was nearly as old as he was and exited the cantina.  
Now it was time to make sure no one had loosened the lug nuts on any of the free weights. Nor put thumbtacks under the practice rings' turnbuckle pads.

Those cleared, he scrutinized every fold in the practice mats that were strewn about the place. Even the ones leaning up against the walls who had no intention of being used until next week. You never know what kind of sick jokes or revenge people could be playing at. They could be targeting someone completely unrelated then WHAM! You have a razor blade halfway through your shoe! Or hand if you were practicing flips and were just a really unlucky person.  
Yeah, it was _way_ more likely to find a pebble someone accidentally tracked in, stuck between two butted up pads. Those could be bad news too. So, Konnan wasn't paranoid. Just thorough.

He gave the underside of the ring a peek, just to be sure no one had 'accidentally' left any giant, flanged maces down there. One of those could give a fighter much worse than a stubbed toe. He'd know: He'd seen it more than once.

Puma entered the gym as Konnan was pulling the practice ring's apron back into place, and couldn't be dissuaded from lending a hand in getting his trainer back to his feet.

 _"Nothing booby trapped?"_ Puma couldn't help but smirk at Konnan, who in turn couldn't help the smirk reaching his own face when he saw the fresh cover job the younger Luchador had done that morning.

"Yeah, the gym has the 'all clear', then he pointed at Puma's neck, "Did you set that with _baby powder_? I can smell it from here, chico," he explained, in response to the incredulous eyes he got directed at him.

 _"Was the only_ _ **powder**_ _I could find!"_ Signed rather defensively.

"If that's all you could find, I'm pretty sure you were looking in the wrong place, mijo." Konnan kept the most serious face he could, so as not to offend his obviously out of his element fighter.  
He _couldn't_ see the bruise, after all. So, points for effort.  
"Well, you ready to get started? We got these last two weeks each off slow, so we gotta hit it hard to get you prepped for this coming match."

Puma nodded and popped off a salute, neither of them sure whether his form was atrocious, but entertained either way.

"Good. Speed bag, órale!" He said, a note of encouragement coloring his mock order.  
He watched Puma stalk over to the little balloon shaped bag, as if the thing was a bird he was intent on surprising, and stayed long enough to make sure the kid was utilizing proper form, before he schlepped his body out into the gloom of the hallway.  
Johnny Mundo was usually in about that time, and he was gonna put the fear of Konnan into the idiota before he went anywhere _near_ his fighter. Puma needed to concentrate on his upcoming fight, not on whatever Johnny Mundo had cooked up for him. For his own safety.

So while Puma banged away on the speed bag, rhythmic punts and bounces coming fast and loud enough and taking up enough of his attention that it was all he could hear, Konnan ran a line of interference that tore down any hope Mundo may have had to mess with his Luchador further.  
That day, at least.

What he couldn't have figured, based on his own past experiences and his preconceptions of the long time wrestler, was that Johnny Mundo had had no intention of 'messing' with the Prince.  
He probably should, on the other hand, have been able to guess that not seeing Johnny, not being forced to _hear_ from the man himself, wasn't gonna make Puma any less broken up over the whole stinking mess that their acquaintanceship had crashed, burned, and smoldered into. If anything, Puma was more distracted after his first good work day that week _because_ he hadn't seen Mundo.

The banana pudding snack at lunch had definitely taken his mind off maudlin affairs, though not for quite as long as Konnan had hoped.

He oversaw the rest of the week's worth of preparations, having Puma spar with anyone who'd step up to the plate with the Champ, and overall keeping the Luchador busy enough that by all means; he shouldn't have been _able_ to be distracted.

Konnan should have known by then though, that Puma does what others say is impossible. So the kid managed to be off kilter and despondent all the way up to the hour of the big fight.  
Needless to say: the fight did not end well.

Konnan threw in the towel, many would say far too early, but he _knew_ his fighter, and his fighter just wasn't up for that fight that night.  
The prep had been good, though nowhere near great, and he'd made sure Puma's conditioning had been spot on, but there was something... unresolved eating away at the Champ's eyes that pushed the possibility of a clean victory far off and away.

It wasn't the missing Championship Belt, which Cage had paraded around the ring like a brand new, feather boa, nor was it the despondency of a low level sickness. Something else was eating at the Prince and Konnan was intent on denying the evidence pointing in a certain other Luchador's direction for as long as possible.

But when Johnny Mundo himself approached him the morning following the loss to Cage with an unorthodox proposition; Konnan realized that he couldn't afford to refuse.  
He was gonna have to accept Mundo's help. For Puma's sake.

 **Aaah! Unorthodox? What in blue blazes could that mean? Does it spell- eh, it's not alphabet soup. How could it 'spell' anything?**  
 **Hope ya'll enjoyed the sharp turns and bumps that make up these latest bits of melodrama!**  
 **Oh, yes! Please do stop by again when the next chapter comes to a screen near you, if you'd like to see what Johnny Mundo has in store for the floundering Champ! And Konnan!**  
 **Till next week,**  
 **~Anonymous**


	8. Armistice

**It's finally here! The moment at least several people have been waiting for!**  
 **Prince Puma and Johnny Mundo will finally come face to face, in a knife fight! Or, wait. I think I got that wrong... Yeah, sorry: Its not a knife fight. But they** ** _will_** **meet, and face to face!**

 **Or: Puma and Johnny have been** ** _not_** **speaking for over a week now, and Johnny's just about sick of it! Though, let's not discount Puma's feelings on the matter! And Poor Konnan has been struggling, trying to keep his distraught fighter off the ropes and in the winner's circle.**

 **Ooh, is Johnny finally gonna find some friendly faces? And the courage to grab a few of his problems by the horns?**  
 **Here's hoping! Here's hoping.**

Puma really wasn't digging this whole, 'ignore each other and everything will go back to normal', routine. Sure, it made it so they could use the gym together and Puma no longer felt the _overwhelming_ , nonsensical compulsion to jump behind something when Johnny Mundo entered any given room, but something felt horribly off about trying to force things back to an old standard for 'normal'.

Puma was pretty sure they'd _broken_ that mold when Mundo'd extended help to him and the tag team superstar EMTs known as Gabby, Federico, and Clara. 'Course, it was the fact that Mundo hadn't gone off to do his own thing _after_ that that cemented the change in status quo.  
He'd followed the medical team into their break room and he'd... Mundo'd helped. And he'd... stayed.

Puma jerked himself out of his memories in time to duck a Clothesline from a well defined, bulging forearm.  
He was also just present enough to avoid the rebound elbow that launched at him from the ropes. He wasn't fast enough though to escape the arm drag, and his world rolled until the crusty ceiling and an impressive brown beard were all he could see.

"Point: Son of Havoc!" He heard, followed by a vibration sent through the practice ring by, presumably, Konnan smacking the apron with his cane. Like he'd been doing _all_ morning.  
"Puma, baby, you're falling behind!"

Puma pushed Havoc off of himself when he realized the biker had no intention of getting off on his own, and rolled to the side and up to his feet. Expending minimum effort to do it, but still keeping his opponent at arms length, the way Konnan always coached him to do in 'friendly' practice matches.

He had to admit though, that Havoc was a lot more fun as a sparring partner than Ivelisse, who would take full advantage of any lapse in concentration and try out all manner of painful, convoluted submission holds and combinations she could dream up.

Puma wasn't a fan of... all that. So of _course_ Konnan loved it. Kept pairing him against Ivee, any time the Luchadora would say 'yes', anyway. Which was often enough that Puma was getting the impression that they were working him over in collusion. Like they had some sort of, 'Get Puma', agreement going on.

Puma wasn't a fan of that idea either. Sure, he was flexible enough that he rarely needed to tap, but getting put in those weird pretzel knots to _begin_ with was demeaning.  
Plus, every time it happened, it drove home the thought that-

"Kitty's not attending!" Came the annoying voice of Son of Havoc. Wait, where was-

Puma spun around, but not fast enough; didn't see the Clothesline coming that time. Instead, he found himself curled up on the mat, trying not to clutch at his throat, and wondering how Son of Havoc had gotten _behind_ him. And why Konnan was calling the biker over and pulling down the middle rope for him?  
Nothing was making sense anymore!

"What?" Demanded a pleased sounding Havoc. "I thought everyone liked Alice In Wonderland."

"Good fight. Now get lost, vato loco," said Konnan, as the biker got down out of the ring right in front of him.

"Sure thing. Just let me or Ivelisse know when the Champ wants to go another round. We're always happy to oblige," he showed a few teeth in what almost appeared to be a genuine smile, then sauntered off toward the cantina.

"Puma, baby, venga aquí," the Barbarian requested, in a tone not devoid of softness.

Puma pulled himself off the mat and walked ropeside, stepping down when Konnan moved the middle rope for him as well. Hm. Guess he was doing it for everyone today.

"You okay? That was a solid shot."

 _"I'll live,"_ Puma signed, swallowing to make sure he still could.

"Don't blow me off, chico." Puma shook his head at that, and revised his response.

 _"It hurt, but it's okay."_

Konnan stared, eyes drifting to the days old bruise's hiding spot. Satisfied that it was still invisible, at least in the lighting of the Temple's gym, and that his protégé didn't look as if he was about to keel over, he sighed and sat on the nearby ringside stairs.

"¿Qué voy a hacer contigo? Huh, Puma? Your head's not in the game, and at this rate... We gotta step things up. There're only-"

 _"Two days-"_

"Yeah, yeah. I know I been hittin' you over the head with this, but you gotta understand: You're the Champ. Toda la gente en este Templo," Konnan pointed at the ground, "'their gunnin' for _your_ gold." He ended by pointing at Pumas waist, where the Championship belt rightfully belonged.

 _"So am I."_ Puma's eyes took on a harder glint at the reminder.

Konnan nodded, hoping that the anger might stay a while. Knowing full well that an angry fighter was generally gonna do better in training than a moping fighter.  
He felt bad for the kid, knew his spirit had seen better days, but this was Lucha Libre, and Puma was gonna have to dig deep if he wanted to beat The Machine at their next fight. If he _did_ beat Cage, there probably wouldn't be another match between them for some time. But if he lost: Dario'd no doubt already shook on the wrestler getting himself another shot at the title. And the Champ.

"Ay, let's get some refrescós," the veterano said, pulling himself off the steps with the assistance of his cane.

As evidenced by Puma's performance the days leading up to the fight: he just didn't have it in him to pull out a win.  
Something was off in an almost comically obvious way and Konnan didn't know how to knock the kid out of his funk.

The only thing he was thankful for those few days, was the pleasant surprise of Mundo's respect. The guy gave them a wide birth and didn't actively attempt to mess with his fighter. Wise move Mundo.  
Well, that and el santo that Ivee was, she'd agreed to try, try, and try again to get through whatever was keeping Puma from the here and now.  
Turned out, Konnan liked her style. "Kid has heart," he'd thought to himself, as he watched Ivelisse tie the Champ into a neat bow in a submission he didn't seem able to shake.  
The older Luchador also respected that the 'Baddest In The Building' never aimed to maim. She had a good head on her shoulders.

Konnan caught himself more than once, advice for the Luchadora on the tip of his tongue, before he remembered that it was _Puma_ she was trying to slap some sense into.

As the day crept up on them, Konnan tried not to let it show, but he was thinking up contingencies.  
What if Cage brought a chair in the ring? What would he need to do if Puma was in real danger of injury?  
Less and less did he think of the possibility that his Luchador would pull a rabbit out of his mask and come out the other side of the match with a victory.

So when the time came, he didn't agonize over the decision. Just grabbed the first white thing he saw and threw it in the ring.  
Sure, Puma was outraged; he had every right to be, after all. He wasn't anywhere near his limit for what kind of a beating he could take, but he also wasn't gonna be held back from his prep for the next bout.

He got Puma to understand: This was a tactical retreat -though, _he_ didn't understand the shadow cast across the kid's eyes at his use of the term-, and with him uninjured for the first time following an encounter with The Machine known as Cage, he'd be going into the next fight at one-hundred ten percent!

That's what Konnan kept telling himself. But even the day after that loss, when Puma's gym buddy Drago came back from a previously unexplained, few day absence -turned out the pobre Dragonito had been laid up with some weird 'Dragon sickness'-, his excitement had petered to a low thrum by the time they left the locker room and his warm ups still lacked a certain 'Puma-y' zeal.  
It was almost like watching someone go through their days on autopilot and Konnan was sick of being ineffectual, damn it! The ki- _Puma_ deserved more from his mentor than he'd received of late.

Enter: Johnny Mundo.

Knock, knock.  
Three heads swiveled for the entrance to their private break room, wondering who on God's green earth -or, in Cueto's Underground Temple- would rap on the door frame as opposed to barging straight in.  
Oh, yeah, _that_ one made sense.

"Johnny? Hey, good to see ya man. Come on in!" Said a Federico who got immediate funny looks from his team mates. "What?" He whispered at them, turning down the voice of Matt Striker coming over the little soundbox, as the Luchador stepped into the room.

"Hi, guys. I was wondering if, uh, It'd be alright with you if- could I listen to the match with you?" The lack of a winning grin and the nervous delivery made even Mundo himself question his motives.

"Uh huh," said Clara, stepping up and away from the couch. "Listen here you little shi-"

"Clara," Gabby grabbed the back of Clara's jacket before the EMT could make a true advance on their visitor, and without real force, tugged to get everyone seated again.

"Yeah, yeah. I promised the little snot I wouldn't yell at him," admitted the would be provocateur.

Gabby noted the surprise in the eyes of the visitor who'd paused in the middle of the room, and posed a question of her own. "Why do you want to 'listen'? The fighters have a **tv** in _their_ break room, don't you?"

"Lemme guess: It's broken now?" Shot the grousing one curled up on one end of the couch.

Johnny looked between the three, all studying him with very different expressions. He swallowed and _didn't_ allow himself to be intimidated.  
"No, it's working as well as it has since... probably nineteen ninety-nine." That got a chuckle from _somebody_ who cut it off right quick when a couple glances reminded him that this was serious time.  
Johnny looked to the floor for a little moral support and took a breath before continuing. "I was hoping for some friendly company."

The trio didn't need to look at each other to collectively agree on-

"Yeah, alright then. Siéntese, muchacho," Clara ordered for the group. Indicating the table closer to Johnny than to their comfy seats.

The Tall Man grinned and pulled out a chair on the far side of the little table, facing the non combatants as he nestled his forearms on the smooth surface.

"So, the locker room's a competitive place? I would'a thought you all made friends, at least..." Federico trailed off, leaving Mundo with the ever more distinct feeling that the EMTs knew something about _something_.

"They can be. This one's usually not that bad, but recently: Things've felt kinda, uh... tense." It was hard to make out his mumbled, "Especially with Drago out the last few days."

"Awe, pobre Lucha-ito get his lunch stolen?" Gabby shot a 'not now' twitch Clara's way at that. Then couldn't help but double take when the 'Lucha-ito' blanched and diverted his eyes.  
Hm. Looked like maybe things hadn't been all sunshine and rainbows for Mundo either. Might help explain his deflated... Well, the guy looked tired. Even his eyes looked darker underneath than Gabby remembered.

"How's Puma been? We heard Konnan is out of the hospital," asked the ever helpful Federico, attempting to push the conversation along.

"He's been... Good." Came out a little high pitched. So no one bought it for a second.

"Have you at least apologized yet?" Snapped a _still_ grouchy Clara.

"Huh?"

"To Puma. Your 'special friend'. Remember?" Delivered with a five hundred forty degree eye roll.

" I- Puma doesn't want-"

"He was crying, you know. On the ride to the hospi-"

"Clara! Patient confidentia-"

"He _wasn't_ our patient. Was a ride along," Clara defended, crossing exasperated arms and sending a glare Mundo's way.

Federico added his two cents, hoping to calm the waters before things got choppy. Choppi _er_. "Besides, we have no idea what about. Could've been worried about his trainer, or that boot to the neck was worse than it looke-"

"Patient confidentiality! Come on people! Are we professionals or are we apes?" Gabby got a soft 'ooh, ooh, ooh' noise from the gorilla in the armchair to her left, which went wholly unappreciated.

"He cried harder when we asked where _this_ ," Clara started, jabbing a thumb towards their 'guest', "idiota was. Pretty obvious if you ask _me_."

Gabby threw her hands in the air. "Incorrigible."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Asked Johnny, rather understandably confused -and worried- by the rapid fire argument.

"So you _haven't_ apologized? Psh, _fighters_." Clara lolled a tired head onto the backboard of the couch, **done** enough with the conversation that staring at the caterpillar ceiling crack was preferable to that tedium.  
Hm. Trick of the light, or was the thing just a little bit longer this week?

"What?" At a bit of a loss for words, Johnny looked between the other two for help.

"Ugh," said Gabby, giving up all pretense of being a fully licensed EMT and going into 'friend mode'. "When we picked Konnan off the mat last week, Puma rode along."

"I got him buckled in," Fedrico offered.

"I was applying pressure to that nasty head wound on that nasty old-"

"And Puma was," Gabby cut off the taciturn, ceiling aimed statement. "Upset."

"Poor guy was dripping salt water onto my gloves."

"And his nose was starting to snot."

" _Thank you_ Clara, we know what crying looks like," intoned an only slightly annoyed Gabby.

"I handed him some gauze."

"Yes, that was very thoughtful of you. I think he appreciated that." Clara's frown turned just a little bit upside down at the acknowledgment of a good turn.  
Gabby caught Mundo's eye and went on, "We asked about his neck, he indicated that wasn't the problem -don't worry, we cleared him," she assured some of the worry off Johnny's face.

"I asked where you were, seeing as you were really... good with him about his last injury; he said you were, 'Not. Here.'" Federico said, really fleshing out the scene with the help of the ASL for a visual aid.  
Johnny could just about _see_ it. Although he needed to imagine the innards of the ambulance, considering he'd never taken a ride in one. Could you stand up straight in one, for example?

" _That's_ when the **real** water works got started. Nuh uh, you can't tell me otherwise, Federico! You were driving. That kid's a _silent_ crier. Should'a seen that shi-"

" **Thank** you, Clara"

"Your welcome, G." Gabby took in a lungful through her nose and held it for several seconds. Clara's upturned face transformed with more and more mirth by the moment, in response to the response the response had prompted.  
Score! It was hard to get Gabby that mad!

"So, now you know about as much as we do," the guy in the plush armchair said, face almost apologetic.

"He also made me promise not to yell at you. So thank him for your eardrums' continued health. And Gabby," Clara tacked on, partly to see whether it would make the other EMT go any redder in the face.

"Was he worried about Konnan?"

"Yeah-"

"But like I _just_ _ **said**_ , the chillón really got started when we asked after _your_ whereabouts." Clara said, cutting off Federico and finally deigning to look at the sorry excuse for a Luchador again and added, "Don't you listen? Or am I background noise to you?"

"No, no- I listened alright. Just checking, 'cause..."

"'Cause what, Cuz?" Asked Federico, not wanting a trail off to be the last thing Johnny said to them that evening.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Yeah, why haven't you apologized yet, you grade 'A' **BASTARDO**!?" The room rang with that crude accusation, everyone too stunned to cut off the echo.  
"Oops." Eyes going wide, Clara's head whipped between the three witnesses. "Don't tell Puma."

The room broke out in laughter, even the butts of the joke joining in the raucous affair.

"Ooh, ooh! Hush up ya'll! Puma's up!" Federico called above the happy din, cranking the knob on the radio until it busted through the snap, crackle, pop volume band and back on through to clear.

All four were on the edge of their seats, at least one of them was chewing on their collar, not able to keep all the anxiety inside.  
When they heard the match called in favor of Cage a worried look traveled from one to the other and back.

"I didn't know throwing in the towel was an option?"

"Federico, mi hermano, this wasn't a title match," intoned a sagely Clara.

"What!? You didn't know either!"

"Heh heh! Caught me!"

"You think Puma's okay?" Asked Gabby, both shocked hands still covering her mouth, making it sound a bit muffled.

"Yeah." All attention flicked to Johnny at the most confident noise he'd made in their presence all evening. He didn't even flinch.  
"If Puma'd been hurt, Matt and Vamp would have said something. They know what they're doing. So does Konnan."

Well, no one could argue with that.  
So no one did. Just nodded to each other and listened to the crowd going crazy outside their little cocoon of comfort. Relative comfort.

Pretty soon, the trio was off the clock and rarin' to put the old ambulance to bed.

Before heading out, each of them said a little tootleoo to one of the only fighters with whom they spoke English, and grabbed up their essential EMT goodies.

Johnny returned the bye-byes and promised not to raid the mini-fridge as soon as they were gone.

"Federico?" Rather surprised, the emergency medical technician stopped just inside the door, waving at the other two thirds of the team to, "Go on ahead without me; I'll survive!"  
They waved back and slipped out of the building.

"What's up? Because if it's something serious, I'm obligated to recommend you see a Doct-"

"No, no- It's... nothing like that," said a Johnny who was still seated at the little three seater table, staring at his entwined hands resting on the cool flatness.

"Oh. Well, shoot then."

Johnny let out a whoosh of air and stood from the table, all at the same time, coming to his full height yet somehow looking no larger than the jacket clad medic by the door.  
"You're a master of two and a half languages, right?"

"Hah! Yeah, only because I didn't pay enough attention in college. Otherwise it'd be a whole three," Federico said, managing to look both proud and self deprecating at the same time.

"Alright. Then I'm gonna need to ask you for a minute of your time."

Those pleading eyes turned on him, there was nothing to do but give in to his caring nature and oblige.  
"You got it, man," he said, walking over to the table and setting his med bag on it. Just for a minute.

Johnny kept his distance, as he had the days leading up to the fight, and just watched the next morning.  
Puma looked good. Physically, anyway. No obvious injury nor abrasion from his Cage match the previous night. He in fact appeared rather fresh.  
His demeanor on the other hand, was as distracted as it had been the days leading up to the bout, and presumably through it.

Johnny was happy as a clam when Drago walked in not long after he himself did, exchanging the Luchador a, "Buenos días," for a Dragon-y good morning nod and snaking a fist bump out of the encounter.

He was then lucky enough to catch the animated greeting shared by the Dragon and the Puma, and even though he figured it was probably similar to eavesdropping, he couldn't help but watch their ensuing conversation.  
 _"I...sick..."_  
 _"...You O.K. now?"_  
Was about all he caught. but he was transfixed by the image of happiness plastered across the Prince's face. Mask. Drago looked happy too.  
He hadn't realized just how _miserable_ the Luchador had looked that last half week.  
It was high time he _did_ something about it.

As soon as Konnan entered the locker room, Johnny approached him, making it obvious as possible that he wasn't looking for a fight.

"Mornin' Konnan," he said, with no pretense at all.

"What'd'you want, guapo?"

Ignoring the compliment, Johnny dove right in, "Yo tengo un gran proposición," Konnan's face went from 'I hate you' to 'why are you speaking Spanish' to 'hm, I'm listening', in the breadth of little more than a second. Score!

"¿Cual es tú proposición, Mundo?" Johnny nearly cracked a grin at the _not_ teasing or derisive tone. Konnan was taking him seriously!  
He resquared his shoulders and went for it.

"Let me be Cage." At the confused squint, he made a small gesture toward the conversation still taking place across the locker room. "Let me spar Puma _as_ Cage. I've seen the Machine's fights, I know his moves; I can help you prepare the Champ for the title bout."

"Absolutely not. No," Konnan said, positioning himself between Johnny and his protégé, "You try to get _near_ my fighter-"

"Every other fighter who _doesn't_ have it out for Prince Puma is under five foot ten," Johnny argued, waving a hand to indicate the busy locker room. Full -full for 'morning' standards, anyway- of Luchadores of all shapes and sizes. Except for shapes and sizes resembling that of Puma's next main event opponent.  
"I'm the closest in height, BMI, and I'm confident I can emulate Cage's style of fighting and apply it in the practice ring. Without anyone getting hurt," he tacked on, catching the way Konnan's grip spasmed on the handle of his cane.

"What makes you think I'd, in a million years, trust you enough to let you spar my fighter? Huh?"

"You've done it before."

"Different circumstances, vato. You were posing as his bud then. Now, I don't know your angle, but I'm hip to your style. The name of the game is 'manipulation'. I can't let you-"

"His head's not in it, right?" Konnan shut his mouth quick at that.  
"Puma's been off and it's all because of me, _right_?" He could see the gears behind Konnan's glasses turning, corroborating everything Johnny said and informing the Barbarian of what good as well as bad might come of that arrangement.

"Letting him take his frustrations out on you might just do the trick," Konnan said, reluctance apparent but fading fast. After all, if avoiding the problem hadn't been helping, forcing the two parties into exchanging blows was _bound_ to be more productive!  
"Remember, Mundo: You mess with my fighter,-"

"I get the cane. I know." They locked gazes for a few long seconds, then both jerked when someone shut a locker door with twice the force usually necessary to latch the poor thing.  
Johnny was the first to pull his attention back to his conversation partner. "So, when do we start?"

"Right after warm ups. Don't keep us waiting," Konnan walked off with a perturbed yet bemused expression haunting his war hardened face.  
Why hadn't he thought of that himself?!

So the two estranged Luchadores entered the ring from opposite corners, not meeting eyes, but circling clockwise, then counterclockwise. Intent gazes trailing up and down the other's legs, studying for footwork and hesitation.

At what felt like the same moment, both fighters glanced up, and in that heartbeat, Johnny 'The Machine' Mundo, forgot all about his deal with Konnan. He forgot... everything when his eyes locked with the set across the ring; inscrutable and at the same time, immeasurably sad.  
Johnny's feet stuck fast and for a second, he wasn't sure he was going to be able to do this- this whole, being one of the outside forces who'd torn their friendship asunder. Who'd put that look in Prince Puma's eyes.

 _Who'd_ put that look in Puma's eyes?  
That's right. It'd been none other than Johnny himself, and the less he thought about _that_ , the better a sparring partner he'd be.

Doing his impression of Cage, Johnny channeled intention pretty clearly through his footwork and exaggerated arm movements, coming at a Puma who was advancing to meet him in the middle of the ring, with a Discus Lariat.

 _Thankfully_ Puma ducked it with change to spare, Johnny'd been coming in slowly, and sent a -gentle?- kick to his opponent's hip. Trying to throw him off balance? Johnny absorbed the check and grabbed the leg, it not being retracted with any urgency at all, and _put_ some urgency into Puma's movements by going for a hold.

Puma was across to the farthest corner before either of them could blink. Looking for the world as if he couldn't make heads or tales of the _thing_ he'd just escaped in the middle of the practice ring.  
Johnny figured he deserved that. This was the first time the two of them had come even _close_ to speaking in over a week. And the language Konnan was just then instructing his protégé to employ: violence.  
Not Johnny's first choice. Not by a long shot, but if trading body shots and DDTs was the only way to gain back a modicum of trust from either of the Luchadores currently giving him _looks_ , one of which easily identifiable as a 'stink eye', he'd be the best sparring partner the gym had ever seen.

Puma hadn't believe his ears when Konnan told him, half way through his warm up routine, that he was starting the day off with a friendly spar. His opponent: Johnny Mundo.

What chicanery had been employed to get _Konnan_ , practically the biggest Mundo detractor of all, to agree to such a set up?  
Puma didn't know how he felt about this. It'd been... taxing enough spending days in the gym ignoring Mundo. Imagine how much worse having to _fight_ him could be.

Being a professional and the Underground Champ though, Puma scolded himself and steeled his resolve on the matter. He'd take full advantage of the opportunity presenting itself and imagine Cage in the ring, in place of who was actually going to be there.  
How hard could that be? They were practically the same height!

Yeah, pretty darn hard, it turned out.  
The two might've been the same height, but he'd know those footsteps anywhere, he realized, as they began circling the inside perimeter of the ropes.  
If the guy's _footsteps_ were distracting, this wasn't going to be as easy as he'd tried to convince himself it-

Then their eyes met, and Puma was struck by the saddest expression he could remember ever staring into. It felt almost like some sick, twisted mirror, reflecting his own... pain back at him.

Then the _not_ Cage started towards him and he didn't have time to wonder how that soul hurt look had found itself nestled in those eyes. The 'fight' was on.

Even through his distraction it was easy to see the Lariat coming, so he ducked it no sweat.  
Still not able to convince himself that this was actually happening though, his neat little sidekick barely made contact and ended up throwing _him_ more off balance than it did... his opponent. His opponent who happened to be going for his leg- No, not a repeat of Ivelisse!

He slipped out of reach and across the ring faster than he thought he'd moved all week. Wow. Maybe Konnan had been right about taking Mundo up on his offer after all.

"Enough dancing niños! What is this: choreographed?! Puma, put a little conviction behind it!" Came Konnan's voice from ringside, not as annoyed sounding as one might expect, but just as insistent.

Puma gave a terse thumbs up at the same time Mundo nodded. Was that meant for him?

They circled some, neither finding a hitch in the other's strides, but looking for one all the same.  
Puma took the initiative, seeing as he'd given a thumbs up and all, and came in looking like he was going for a Superman punch. 'The Machine' met him half way across the ring, poised as if he might grab the punch and redirect it into an arm drag.  
Too bad Puma wasn't _actually_ going for a huge punch.

With the help of the misdirect, he easily ducked and got both arms around one of Mundo's legs and shouldered him in the midriff, flipping the guy to the mat in an old Lucha Libre take down.

"That's it! Point: Puma!" Declared a rather zealous Konnan.

A plus on that maneuver being that it left Puma standing, ready to jump closer or farther, depending on the other's next move. Which happened to be a leg sweep that he hopped neatly away from.

Oh, but the leg sweep was a play to get him to back off! Smart. Now Mundo had plenty room to get back to a vertical base and figure things out from there.

The going in circles game getting rather old, the sparring Luchadores went instead for a clench. Heads close and a hand each on the back of the other's neck, grappling to make their's the 'upper'.  
Both realizing in the same beat, that Cage wouldn't be the kind to go for a traditional Lucha exchange such as the one they found themselves occupied with, and the Ender of Worlds still being some faster on the draw, Johnny took advantage of the position and swept his hand -a good fistful of leather Puma mask between the fingers- down toward the mat. Forcing the shorter Libre fighter to double over.  
Which just so happened to be the exact position from which Cage flipped fighters up for a... Powerbomb.

Johnny had to do it. The Machine would never pass up such a perfect opportunity, so his doppelgänger wasn't supposed to either. For that reason, he grabbed up two handholds, tried his best to emulate that specific style of brutishness, and yanked Puma head over heels.  
Now he was poised, and were he _actually_ the Machine known as Cage, he'd have given his sparring partner a solid shot to the mat before the guy had a moment to figure out what had gotten him by the waist and thrown him for a loop.  
As it was; Johnny was having a tough enough time staying on task _without_ the help of an immediately guilty conscience, thanks much.  
He'd offered to help, not damage.

Puma up in those arms, suspended off the mat just so.  
Johnny the one holding the Prince there, ready to lay him out just as he'd attempted to prevent someone else doing... not so long ago.

Flashes of the night they'd become friends popped in each fighter's head, making it a struggle to carry on without pause, but desperation in not wanting anyone to catch on that they were distracted pushed them through.  
Puma kicked and wriggled _hard_ against the hold that hadn't yet turned into a Bomb; the strong arms, muscles not so dissimilar to the true Machine's, gripped tighter until Puma found the exact angle of twist that broke him free.

He hit the mat and rolled out of the ring, telling himself that he needed a breather, but knowing that what he _really_ needed was to get over all that had happened over the past couple weeks.  
It was obvious Mundo had. Otherwise... why would the Luchador be doing this?  
Wait. Why _was_ he doing this?!

Puma broke himself from his intent stare at the ring apron, only then realizing that he'd been spacing, to study the man still standing in the middle of the ring.  
He hadn't come after him when he'd freaked and slipped under the bottom rope. Mundo was letting him get his head back on straight, and Puma had to admit that what he was doing couldn't look like much else.  
Not like he was clutching an arm or anything- hey that was a... **bad** idea. Konnan'd be on him in a _second_ \- it'd be a horrible headache, so no fake injuries.

No, he was gonna suck it up and get back in that ring! Any second now.

"What's'a matter, baby?" Puma heard, less than a foot from his ear, making him jump just a hair.  
"¿Estás bien? If you need-"

 _"It's fine; I'm good,"_ he signed at light speed while jumping up on the apron, then vaulting over the top rope.  
Konnan was already worried, darn it. He must've been _really_ off his game if the Barbarian was going into 'protection' mode. At least he'd been quiet about it.  
Puma was gonna have to do better than that if he wanted to keep gold come that Cage fight.

"Alright, that's more like it! Puma, good technique on that hold break! Practice that!" The coach said in his best 'everything is one hundred percent fine' voice.  
"Mundo," he said, switching tones at a speed that would have given anybody else whiplash, "keep it up. Kid needs the workout."

"Sure thing," the taller fighter said, just a hint of pride coloring the words.

By the end of the day, Prince Puma and Johnny Mundo could look each other in the eyes again -like _adults_ , had spent a water break in the same room, and had... well, that had been about it.

"At least it was _progress_ ," Johnny mumbled to himself while toweling his sweat beaded neck. He chucked the towel back into his locker with only half a thought as to whether it needed a wash, and made for the locker room door. Nearly walking straight into Konnan as the older **appeared** from out of the gloom of the hallway. Like a specter.

"Mundo," the terse ghost started, before Johnny could sidestep him and be on his way. "I saw what you did. With that Powerbomb?"

Johnny scrunched an eyebrow, searching the ex Luchador's face for a clue as to his mood. "Uh-"

"Don't play dumb with me, tonto. You _had_ the kid, then you just stood there. I wanna know why. Why you playin' nice all of a sudden?" Konnan stood his ground, impassive as a statue, a hard look aimed right at Johnny, while the taller fighter floundered for something to say.

"I- I- you told me to 'watch it'."

"That's not it, Mundo." Now he was blocking the _whole_ doorway. Great.

Heaving a sigh and shifting his feet to a more comfortable position, Johnny realized that this was _exactly_ the opportunity he'd been wanting for for over a week: The chance to explain himself.  
He also knew that Konnan was still mad at him and far too 'savvy' to believe the truth of what had happened, so he gave the guy what he'd asked for without forcing the matter.  
"I... _wanted_ to be there. I regret not being there for the fight. If I'd been sitting ringside like-"

"Like you _promised_ the Champ you would?" The venom in the question stung, but Konnan had said nastier things to him with angrier faces in the past. Nothin' new. So he just nodded and went on.

"Maybe you wouldn't have needed..." He indicated Konnan's forehead, to which the coach squinted. "And maybe Puma wouldn't have lost the next bou-"

"I'mm'a stop you right there. All that:" The retiree said, with one hand making a swirly motion indicating 'all that'. " **Happened**. Whether you being there would'a stopped _any_ of it -or made it worse-," the coach sounded right there as if he was actually making an effort to be less harsh than his usual self. That felt kinda weird for both of them. So they elected to ignore it. "Don't matter. What _does_ , is that today's spar was Puma's best in a long-ass time. You two keep that up; he has _more_ than a shot come that title match."  
Was that twitch at the corner of the older gent's mouth a... smile? No. No, it must've been a trick of the light.

"I-"

"You ever consider acting?" Well _that_ was out of left field. What in the world?

"What?"

"'Cause for a second there, you almost had me convinced you _actually_ care." Konnan definitely noticed the way Johnny's eyes widened at the jab. Perhaps to soften the blow, he added,"Almost thought it was Cage in that ring today too. Keep it up, Mundo."

The coach turned and made for the gym, where one could hear the sound of a cool down routine happening.

Though Konnan hadn't touched him, Johnny felt almost as if he'd received a friendly clap on the shoulder right there at the end. Probably it had been Konnan's _equivalent_ to one; ending on something that wasn't obviously a put down.

Johnny chalked the day up as a win and left the Temple feeling better than he'd had any right to in days.  
Tomorrow was gonna be the day: He was gonna make that leap and _talk_ with Puma.

"'Morning, Puma," came the meek greeting that barely made it past Johnny's taught lips. A bit too nervous about the other's reaction to smile naturally.

After a moment's tense pause, in which Puma's eyes flicked first right, then left, the younger Luchador raised a hand and sent his own greeting. _"Hi, -"_

Wait! Was that the letter 'M'? What happened to 'J'?!  
Oh, right. That would make sense. They were on last name terms now. Figured.  
Although, Johnny really wasn't sure how to call a guy named 'Prince Puma' by a last name. Had he been doing it the whole time?  
He did his best to shrug off how much that brought him down and managed to at least get the smile less plastic, if not smaller.

"Ready to hit it?"

Puma nodded and turned away from Johnny, toward the practice ring, already done with warm ups for the day. Leaving Johnny feeling like he'd been given the cold shoulder, yet hopeful that a good practice bout would bring just as much positive change as yesterday's seemed to.  
Puma had _spoken_ to him after all. And looked him straight in the face for over one second! Things were really looking up!

Konnan had decided that Puma needed more work on his take downs, pins, and submissions, because he wasn't used to opponents as tall as the Machine needing to be taken down.

Johnny was... alright with that. So long as it was to help Puma's technique, he'd take the brunt of the beatings for the day. Or the week for that matter.  
He had the feeling though, that Konnan might, just _might_ , have been doing this purely out of spite. Spite towards Johnny. That almost pat on the shoulder the previous evening not enough to get the guy to take it easy on him.

So the morning leading up to lunch break was spent with Johnny in lots of different holds and pins, doing his best to only try and break them in a style Cage would employ. Every now and then having to deny himself from trying a really cool hold break because he knew that the Machine wasn't as flexible as he was.

Now that Johnny thought about it, Puma wasn't going for the pins in quite effective enough a fashion. Ooh, prime example, coming right up:

Puma flipped off the middle rope in a move similar to a shooting star, aim impeccable as ever so that all Johnny needed to do -being the perfect sparring partner and all-, was catch him. So he did, and though this was just practice, the move still had enough kick that he would have needed to try _harder_ to keep standing than he did to fall on his back with the feline 'foe' landing neatly on top of him.

Puma grabbed Johnny's leg with one hand behind the knee and pulled it toward himself, at the same time using his other arm to push down on one of his opponent's shoulders.  
After all morning going like this, Johnny was positive that Konnan must've been nearing the 'blowup' stage of ticked with his protege. Especially considering the coach had been telling the 'kid' over and over again to, "Really go for those pins, Puma! No shortcuts just because this ain't the real deal!"

Johnny didn't give himself a second to mull it over; just moved.  
Before Puma could pretend more than a 'one' count had elapsed, Johnny grabbed the hand hooked around the back of his knee and pulled it to halfway up the back of his thigh.  
In the same moment, his other arm reached up and onto the Prince's back and pulled hard enough to get them flush against each other.  
Chest to chest, and one leg pulled up far and firmly enough that Johnny Mundo himself would have had difficulty getting his shoulders off the mat; Puma got the three count he needed, but this time, Johnny had provided it.

As soon as the 'three' left Mundo's mouth, Puma was up and fuming.

Konnan saw the whole thing, top to bottom, and had been _positive_ that that 'this is how _wrong_ you're doing it' move by Mundo had been enough to get his hide **tanned** by the understandably prideful Prince.  
Kinda too bad, considering Mundo had been _right_.  
The look on the kid's face had only reinforced his certainty. Puma never got that mad about _anything_. Mundo'd finally pushed the Champ over the edge, and the only thing about that Konnan found tragic, was the fact that it had been a solid technique correction that finally did it. The estupido was gonna get his can kicked for being a good sparring partner.  
 _This_ , Konnan had to see.

But then, before Mundo'd even had a chance to sit up, Puma's furious expression evaporated, his taught shoulders sank, and the fighter turned his back to the Mundo, an expression of blankness aimed at the mat while he just _stood_ there.

What in the world? Konnan could barely believe his eyes. Even through his glasses! The kid hadn't even flipped the pendejo the bird! What give-  
Oh, no.

"Alright, kiddies! Time for lunch," he cajoled, purposefully sending Mundo all the, 'that was completely normal' vibes he could muster. Knowing full well that a fighter as underhanded as that gringo would be ten times as big a problem if he caught on to what Konnan had just _witnessed_.

When Puma left the ring without so much as a dirty backwards glance, Konnan's heart clenched.  
That exchange between the fighters had shifted the poor coaches world view. A revelation the size of Manhattan had smacked him upside the frontal lobe:

Prince Puma, Underground Champion Luchador, ' _liked_ ' Johnny Mundo. The man who'd _inadvertently_ turned Puma's world upside down with one simple, broken promise.  
Now everything was starting to make sense! The crying and the snot. The listlessness, the barely being able to look the guy in the eye, the hesitance to really lock in those submissions. It all came back to that stupid little muscle too many good people died over; gave up _careers_ over!  
Puma's **heart** was set on someone who'd betrayed him.

No wonder he'd been walking the Temple in a daze.

Konnan sucked in a harsh breath and wished he'd recognized the signs sooner. _Much_ sooner. If he'd only done more to keep the two separated from day one, maybe Puma wouldn't be nursing a-

Stop the presses!

"Por favor, Dios mío. No," Konnan prayed as he dragged his eyes back up to where Mundo was. _Still_ in the ring, sitting there; guilt ridden expression trailing the retreating form of Konnan's protégé just as out of place on the cocky, headstrong, arrogant Mundo's face as the crushed soul, kicked puppy look Puma had been sporting more often than not.  
Ever since that title match against Cage… neither of those fighters had been the same.

How could Konnan have missed it?

How could **_they_** have missed it!?

Johnny Mundo, famed 'Ender of Worlds', ' _liked_ ' Prince Puma.

The two... ' ** _liked_** ' each other. Without the other knowing it! Maybe without knowing it _themselves_.  
They were even denser than Konnan had thought.

Konnan shook the feeling of utter shock out of his head, and tried not to feel anything but contempt for the fighter who was only then picking himself off the mat. He couldn't help it though when his hand reached out and pulled the middle rope down. Nor could he bring himself to let it sproing up into the other Luchador's groin.

"C'mon, Mundo. The fridge'll be empty at this rate." The seasoned coach did his best to ignore the rejection written plain as day -now that he knew what to look for- all over the younger fighter's face, and led the way to the cantina. A conundrum of epic proportions banging around in his head as he tried to block out the sound of defeated feet following him down the hall.

He'd never expected things to go to hell in a hand basket _quite_ like this.

Johnny'd spent all of forty seconds in the cantina, enough time to grab a 'cool' water, then hightailed it outta there and over to the privacy of a deserted locker room.  
He didn't think he could take seeing that furious expression on Puma's face again. Not unless it was pointed in Cage's direction. But, out there on the practice ring floor, it had _definitely_ been meant for Mundo. Not his imitation of the Machine, but the man behind the 'performers only' curtain. And it had struck home.  
Had he truly destroyed any hope they had of rebuilding that bridge Johnny hadn't been able to keep from burning down? Did Puma really hate him _that_ much?

Regardless; Johnny _needed_ to tell him- needed to explain and _try_ to get his... ex-friend to understand just how unintentional his missing that match had been.

But _how_!? How could he tell Puma all that needed to be said when the guy didn't even want to _touch_ him?! In a ring where the basic objective was to _hit_ the person across from you.

It hadn't been as obvious the day before, because they hadn't been forced to spend as much time squished together like pipe cleaners in some grade schooler's art project, but Johnny'd finally realized that the Champ wasn't just taking it easy on him for the sake of 'taking it easy'. He was being aloof.

Johnny supposed he was lucky Puma wasn't the type to take _revenge_ on those who'd... wronged him.  
Otherwise, more than just Johnny's feelings would be bruised.

He popped the top on his water and drained the whole thing with barely a break taken for air, wiping away the mix of fresh water and sweat left over with the back of a hand across his mouth.  
Then, he sighed, crushed the empty plastic vessel bottom to top, and chucked it **hard** against the nearest locker. Kinda disappointed with the wimpy, non dented reaction it got from the metal door.

He sighed louder, a little growl sneaking its way in at the end, and bent to pick up the piece of litter. He had an 'always leave a place at least as clean as you found it' policy which he wasn't going to compromise just because he was annoyed at his life at the moment.

He scooped the crumpled plastic up in one hand and straightened. Then nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked up and locked eyes with a pair of stark white irises, barely a hands length from his own.

"P-Pentagon! Were you here the whole time?" Honestly the first thing that came to his mind.

"Sí," said along with a gloved finger indicating the darkest shadow Johnny had ever seen. Clear across the locker room.  
"Pareces un payaso triste."

"Um, okay?" To Johnny's dismay, Pentagon made no move to... _move_. Just kept staring. "Anything el-"

"Dijiste 'Puma'." Johnny's eyes went wide at the statement. Had he really said something out loud?  
"Yo digo," the taller of the two tensed when a leather clad hand raised to level with his eyes, concerned the one it belonged to might- oh geez! He was leaning _closer_! "Cero. Miedo." Accompanied by a couple hand signs Johnny couldn't split his attention well enough to make out.

Then the guy just, sort of... stalked off. What looked like a black candle and a -now Johnny's eyes were playing tricks on him- **bleached bone** peaking out from the sash around his waist.

"Oookaay... 'Zero. Fear.' Huh?" Oh, he _did_ talk to himself out loud! Yikes. That's the kind of thing you'd like to know about yourself before you're allowed to go out in public alone. Better late than never, he supposed.

Soon as break time was over, Johnny was gonna take the -Kindly?- advice and address the situation with Cero Miedo! Just like the creep who'd watched him from a shadow that was... _no longer there_ had advised him to.  
Life was funky like that.

Puma and Johnny each went through some stretches and range of motion exercises upon their respective returns from 'lunch'.  
Konnan gave the all clear for them to enter the ring, and Johnny, thanks to Cero Miedo, had something he wanted to say to Puma.

They started off the post morning spar with some shadow style kickboxing; a soft leg to the shoulder here, a downy light punch to an unguarded piece of upper body there.  
Before Konnan could get fed up with that and begin yelling for Puma to put in more practice with those pins, Johnny plucked at his resolve and opened his mouth.

"Hey Puma," just loud enough that he _knew_ the champ could hear, but didn't _think_ anyone else could. "About that match, you against Cage, that I missed," the Champ's eyes narrowed, but that was the only sign he was listening. "I," he bobbed away from a left straight, "had every intention," he sidestepped a Puma swipe and countered with a little Libre chop to the exposed shoulder blade, "of being there."

Puma broke form _just_ enough to bring a hand near his own mouth, holding it as if he were pantomiming a duck bill, and close it. Paired with a withering look, Johnny thought it fairly safe to guess the meaning to be, _"Shut it."_

Johnny took in a breath, wishing they didn't need to be actively fighting in order to _talk_ , but ready to work with it.  
"I mean it," he said, glancing around to make sure any other Luchadores in the gym weren't listening.  
Puma came in with a hot kidney punch, which Johnny deflected and figuring, "What do I have to lose?," went for a clench.  
"I don't know how it happened," he said, head practically butted up against the Champ's, "but someone stole my cellphone and locked-" he had to renew the clench when Puma twisted to get a body shot in. " _Triple_ locked me in the back of an armored van."

Puma broke the clench with another body shot, that one not quite as soft as the last, and in a very non-Lucha move, _shoved_ his sparring partner into the closest corner.  
Eyes accusing, his hands came up and flashed a litany of signs at the taller fighter. Signs Johnny had never seen, and at such speed that he only managed to differentiate a couple from the confusion.

One looked like Puma was wiping milk off the whole bottom of his chin, the back of his hand touching one side of his jaw and swiping under till it reached the other side.

Then the fighter clenched both hands into fists, biting his bottom lip, and turned to vault the top rope and take the closest exit.

Feeling flummoxed, and almost as if he'd just been slapped, Johnny slipped out of the ring, walked over to where Konnan had been standing for the entire exchange, and asked, "Uh, what was that?"

Konnan heaved a sigh before answering. "He says he doesn't want you're lies. Doesn't need made up excuses," he translated, head hung a little lower than usual. Almost as if the guy was regretting what he'd had to say.  
"I'll see if I can get him to calm down," but before he made a move to follow in the Prince's footsteps, he turned to Johnny with an out of place look on his craggy face. "Maybe next time, just say what you **mean** , pendejo."

"Huh?"

"You'll figure it out. Or at least, you _better_. For both your sakes," he said, giving his cane a little shake, obviously not meaning to threaten though. Weird.

As the Barbarian walked off, Johnny placed the look he'd been given: Sympathy.  
Double weird.

Hm. Say 'what he means', huh? Johnny could do that just fine. He'd just been hoping to do so _following_ his explanation. Maybe he should have thought that bit through a little more carefully?

Johnny got told that the sparring would start up again same time tomorrow by a Konnan he was beginning to suspect just _might_ have started **not** hating him, then spent his entire cool down pondering the best way he could go about this whole 'Cero. Miedo. Saying what he meant' thing.

By morning, he had a pretty good plan of action lined up, and unless it promptly blew up in his face; he was gonna see it through to the end.

 **Aaaalrighty then. Who was hoping for more resolution than that? I think I see a few hands, way in the back there.**  
 **Yeah. Well... next time, baby. I** ** _mean_** **it too! Next chapter is expected to hold the answers to all life's greatest mysteries and definitely a... wait a sec! You're trying to get spoilers out of me! Not gonna happen!**

 **Seriously though: I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it anywhere near as much I enjoyed writing it, and I encourage anyone who had more than no feelings on the drama to share those feelings in a comment below! That way, I can tell you whether those feelings are allowed to be felt. ;D**  
 **Till next time!**  
 **~Anonymous**


	9. A Friendship's Restitution

**Ah, yes. Back to the mellow drama taking place in the Temple leading into Puma's final Title defending match against the Machine known as Cage.**

 **Poor Johnny Mundo and Prince Puma have finally come face to face once again, but they still haven't** ** _really_** **spoken with each other since the horrid chain of events that all started back in part two.**  
 **Perhaps the recent Armistice will give them the opportunity to set that straight!**

Ugh! Puma was sick of this!  
Why couldn't he just see Mundo as another fighter? Why did it feel so wrong to slam his body down, tie the Luchador in a knott and get the tap? Why did being forced chest to chest with an indifferent Mundo _hurt_ him inside?  
He needed a break from all that.

Unfortunately, _Konnan_ didn't see it that way.  
He thought things were getting _better_ with Puma, just because he was the one pulling off the submissions now instead of getting himself twisted up in knots!  
Definitely not true. He was getting those pins and locking those holds because his 'sparring partner' was _letting_ him. He could tell. He'd sparred the guy before and they were neck and neck when it came to grappling skills.

Sure, Mundo was doing a great job of pretending to be the Machine and stopping himself from breaking holds in ways Cage was likely incapable of bending his joints _to_ break; he had to tip his mask to that. But aside from that, the guy was treating him as if he was some sort of- as if he was coming back from some sort of physical injury. Instead of just... sparring him.

It was a sad continuation of how things had been the last week or so: the two of them doing their best to ignore each other.  
But... hadn't _Mundo_ asked **Konnan** to let him spar 'the Champ'? It hadn't been the other way around; he knew Konnan would **never** have approached, "That gringo loco," about it, no matter how messed up the situation.

And then they'd kick boxed. Like shadows. Like two people who really knew their ways around each other. Like they were dancing a dance meant for... swans or something. Something graceful. So maybe not swans. Those things had webbed feet; they were only graceful underwater.  
Probably just because they were both good fighters, but it'd felt... more real than the last several days all smooshed together.

Then Mundo'd gone and opened his mouth. And revealed his game plan. Had he _really_ just wanted to mess with the Champ's head... all along?

Besides that: Puma needed and _wanted_ nothing to do with someone who wouldn't take responsibility for their own decisions. He almost couldn't believe that Konnan still wanted him in the ring with that- with that... He guessed his coach had his reasons, and he _hoped_ they were good ones, but after that little explosion of his... It wasn't gonna be easy to get back in the ring come morning.  
Maybe a good night of sleep and a big breakfast would do it?

Yeah, now he was kidding himself.

Morning came, a big breakfast got _half_ eaten, and Puma still didn't know how he was gonna face the Mundo.  
Once he arrived at the Temple though, it became rather obvious: Konnan was gonna _make_ him.

"No. I don't wanna hear any complaints. I know you and... _Mundo_ been hittin' it hard, but preparation makes for good performance, and you _need_ to be in top condition come fight night, mijo."

Heh, Konnan could _still_ hardly bring himself to say the guy's name. That fact calmed some of the rankle from Puma's unhappiness. Coupled with the knowledge that his coach was just about one hundred percent right; he couldn't put up a worth while argument and settled for sticking his tongue out at him between stretches and every time the guy tried to say something comparing the technique of Johnny 'the Machine' Mundo and Cage.  
They were quite similar.

Johnny walked in to work that morning with his game face **on**. He was pretty sure one of the security personnel was just a tad spooked by it, but he needed to stay focused. If he didn't, he'd probably end up sitting in a corner between spars and never talking to Puma again.  
He couldn't let that happen. Not after... all that had happened. Especially not after hearing and _seeing_ how broken up about his supposed betrayal the Prince had been, and indeed, still was.

He was going to continue performing admirably. At the same time doing something very few people were _expecting_ of him: He was gonna tell the truth.

"¡'Morning, mis amigos!" He greeted a pair who seemed to be already most of the way through a thorough warm up.  
He wasn't late or anything; just got most of _his_ warm up in on the way to work. He only needed to join in and they'd be ready at the same time.  
Everything was going perfectly.

Great! Mundo was gonna horn in on warm ups too!? Was nothing sacred anymore?  
Ostensibly, not to _that_ -

"Mundo, sleep well?" To say that both younger fighters were surprised by the thoughtful question would be an understatement. Big time.  
They even glanced at each other.

"Uh," Johnny started, coming out of his White Crane Spreads Its Wings movement to face the coach. "Yes? Fine, thanks. How 'bout y-"

"Good, 'cause Puma's gonna have you eating mat all morning again." Both of them caught the Champ's 'private' eye roll.  
"Before that though, I want you to do that Tai Chi form from the beginning and _Puma's_ gonna follow along. Got that, mijo?" He said, giving his protégé a look which brooked no argument.

Johnny was gifted a snapshot of the Lucha Underground Champ sticking his tongue out at his mentor. He couldn't help the grin spreading across his face, getting wider until he was full on _smiling_ and he realized that was weird, so he wiped it away with a quick forearm swipe. Glad the others had been too preoccupied to notice.

"Puma, baby, you're all tense. You do exactly as this payaso does, the breathing too, you'll be good to go. Ay! What I say about complaints, huh?"

The Prince crossed his arms, looking sour and altogether unhappy about how this day was shaping out.  
Johnny Mundo, not peeved at having to start his long form from the beginning, and deciding that a _short_ form was probably a good idea, came back to the Beginning Of The Universe and exaggerated the first movements. Since they were pretty subtle.

"Left foot steps out," he said, quiet enough that he figured it wouldn't be annoying. "Right hand pushes up, Left pushes down," around the time they reached' "Stroke The Peacock's Tail," he thought he heard shaky breathing coming from his impromptu 'student'. Which wouldn't make much sense, considering that this wasn't a physically difficult exercise for someone as fit as the two of them.

"Niño, show some respect. People been practicing this discipline since before mi abuelo ever _heard_ of Lucha Libre."

After _that_ , Johnny couldn't help but turn to see what was up. Oh. Right. He'd been practicing long enough that he'd completely forgotten how funny the names of the different movements were. It was nice to see Puma chuckling again...

"From the top! And no laughing this time," said Konnan, sounding _almost_ serious too. But, if Johnny was guessing this right; the coach was just as happy as he was that the Champ was gleaning enjoyment out of this. A simple Tai Chi form.

Yep. The Barbarian was crinkling his eyebrows in a way he only did when he was 'not totally disappointed'. So he was also glad for Puma and his nearly silent giggles.  
Johnny was glad that Puma's mentor was someone who cared as much as Konnan did. The guy was so protective that he was practically enthusiastic about threatening other fighter's if they _breathed_ in his protege's direction. Arguably not the best reaction, but at least the entire locker room knew the Champ wasn't alone.

Johnny took them through the short form 'from the top' straight through to the end, where the coach gave them the okay to start the next phase of the morning; ground and pound.  
He was pretty sure Konnan let Puma off easy there, seeing as it'd sounded like the guy had laughed about twice as much as he had the first time. Who was he to judge? _His_ serious face hadn't stayed put long either.

"We're gonna be doing it on the practice floor this time. Sexy Star and Mariachi Loco have the ring reserved till lunch." The fighters nodded in acknowledgement and got in position to start right where they were standing.

As soon as Konnan moved to grab a nearby seat, Johnny caught the Luchador who was going to be crushing him into the mat all morning's attention by forming the signed letter 'P' with his right hand.

He got an open handed, palms toward the ceiling gesture which he guessed was the sign for, _"What?"_ Pretty intuitive, really. Strongly resembled what a lot of people did when asking that question.

Johnny dug down for the confidence he knew was still there, the knowledge that Federico had trained him for all of three minutes for this exact moment pushing him to just _go_ for it. So he brought his right hand to his chest, arranged in a loose fist with the thumb pointing at his chin, and from the elbow, moved it in a little circle. As if polishing his heart. Or scratching his chest. Depending on how well he'd done it.  
He'd practiced in a mirror but that was no guarantee that his execution was gonna be perfect.

Puma stared at him, perhaps unsure of what he'd seen, then moved his arms akimbo and shook his head at the mat covered floor.

"Alright, kiddies! No time for chit-chat. We got a Machine that needs his culo kicked come fight night!"

"Sure thing, jefe!"

"Don't call me that, Mundo! What I tell you 'bout butchering my native tongue in my presen-"

"Okay, wanna start with Takedowns?" Knowing well how riled up the -fluent- Spanish speaker could get about... pretty much anything, he cut him off and brought everyone's attention back to the task at hand: Getting Puma ready for a Boyle Heights Street Fight. With the Championship on the line.  
He'd practically forgotten the parameters set on the bout, what with all the messed up things that'd been going down. He and Konnan were really gonna have to turn it up a notch if the Champ had his sights set on Aztec gold.

Johnny found himself flat on his back, a smug Puma face moving into and then out of his view of the frankly worrying ceiling. He flicked his eyes over at Konnan when he heard gruff chuckles.

"Good one, baby. Let's see if you can pull it off when this bromista's paying attention!" It was rather eerie to see the coach chortle. Or display any signs of mirth, for that matter.  
Had they stepped into the Twilight Zone? Why did Konnan know _anything_ about Tai Chi? How had he missed Puma going for a Takedown?

Eh, he'd been kinda spacing. That's all it took. Especially in the ring. One moment of lapsed concentration and **wham**! The win is miles away and you're stuck holding an ice pack to your keister for twenty minute blocks over the next _hours_ of your life.  
Not a fun alternative to winning.

As Johnny picked himself off the mat, ready now for anything Puma might have waiting for him, he figured the Luchador hadn't taken what he'd signed seriously. At least he seemed to be taking the _spar_ seriously.

Now that he got a good look at him, that short form _must_ have helped him loosen up; he was bouncing from one foot to the other, shoulders more relaxed than they'd appeared in the longest time.  
Konnan was a _genius_.

Before he could make a 'come at me' gesture, the Prince was leaping at him, in a maneuver that would force Johnny to either move out of the way _quickly_ or-

"Gotcha," he couldn't help but say, low and close to a yellow masked ear. Then, just as the befuddled Champ began to squirm, the fighter who was holding him four plus feet off the ground, span and 'slammed' him onto the mat. Punctuating the Slam by going for a cover.

Puma was shocked enough with the turn of events that Johnny got to two before being shoved off. The Champ sat up and looked him straight in the face. Quite surprised indeed.

"It's what Cage would have done," he supplied, shrugging as he checked over his shoulder.  
Yep, Konnan was directly behind him.

"He's right, baby. You gotta be ready for _anything_ when you jump in the ring with a Machine." Words to live by.

While the coach spoke, Johnny took the still moment to sign in secret to Puma the same thing he had before their spar had begun.

The reaction was more confused than derisive, which Johnny figured _had_ to be some sort of improvement, so he didn't let his shoulders droop when the Prince averted his gaze and shoved himself to his feet. Just kept himself ready for the next round.

"Alright, kiddies. You _know_ there's no time for a breather in a street fight. Pick up the pace, órale!" Said their tireless... advisor. Clapping a couple times and leaning forward in his chair.

So their morning went. Puma meeting far more resistance from his sparring partner than he had all week, and Johnny taking every spare moment to sign the exact same message, away from the watchful eye of the Champ's coach.  
It was a private exchange after all. Also a one sided one, but he wasn't going to split hairs when things were going so well. Puma was beginning to look at him with something aside from... that look he'd been giving him the last couple days. Hurt and anger, mixed in with enough loss to win him one at his next match.

It was a _relief_ to get confused, _"What?!"s_ and perplexed, _"Shut. Up."s_ in place of straight up scorn. Or worse: being ignored.

It also seemed as if- No, he wasn't imagining it; Puma's technique was improving for _sure_. The pins were locked in tight, the submissions were snug -snugg _er_ anyway-, though still not quite what they needed to be come fight night. Not if they were gonna submit a living, breathing _Machine_ like Cage. The guy's biceps were massive! He could break out of this hold _way_ more easily than...

Johnny bunched his muscles, pulling harder and twisting just so, until the beautiful Armbar he'd found himself snaked into was broken and he was moving to cover a surprised Puma.  
"Cage is stronger than me," he whispered as non-creepily as he could. Wedging the statement into that space between crawling on top of the Prince and getting tossed off.

Soon as Puma and he were back to vertical bases, he caught the fighter's attention and had his message signed once more, before getting shouldered in the middle for another Takedown.  
At least the guy'd definitely seen it.

Lunch time hit, Konnan helped them untangle a gnarly Kamura, and the three trundled off for the cantina, waving to a busy Mariachi Loco and Sexy Star as they left.

"Good hustle out there niños. You almost looked like _real_ Luchadores," which the mentor topped off with a wry cackle. Just so the two knew he wasn't completely serious.

Puma moved in front of Johnny, behind where Konnan was leading the procession, and turned to face him, walking backwards.  
 _"What's up?"_ He asked, a rather fed up look dominating his visible features.  
He then put a flat hand against his forehead area, and brought it away and down in a 'y' formation. Followed by, _"you saying"_ , ending in the same sign Johnny'd been directing at him all morning.

The two of them stopped, halfway between the gym and the cantina, Konnan not seeming to notice as he continued on his way, chuckling to himself about how funny Mundo's face looked squished into the mat.  
The lights above flickered and Johnny took a deep breath, figuring he deserved it after that spar.

"I've been saying, ' _I'm sorry_ ', all morning... because it's the truth."

Puma's eyes narrowed, but he made no move to speak nor leave, so Johnny took it as permission to continue.

"I _am_ **sorry** , Puma," he said. Signing the sentiment as best he could along with the words he hoped sounded as sincere as they felt.  
"I **meant** to be there and I'm... as sorry as I've been about anything that I wasn't."

That hung for a long moment. Quiet enough that it didn't ring; loud enough that every word came across in hi-fidelity.

 _"Why?"_ Johnny remembered was the meaning of the forehead to 'y' hand.

"Why wasn't I there, if I wanted to be?" He got a stiff nod. To which, he hesitated. Remembering Puma's reaction from the last time he'd tried this, and wishing he didn't need to chance a repeat.  
"I don't want to lie... I know how it sounds, but I told you the truth the other-"

Aand Puma was _outta_ there. Face radiating something akin to annoyance before he'd turned his back, cutting off the unwanted noise.

Johnny, rather understanding -almost _expecting_ \- the reaction, only let his face fall so far.  
He had the rest of the day ahead to keep trying.

After a lunch spent largely ignoring each other, the three made it back to the gym, rehydrated and refueled, without anyone getting hurt.

Ivelisse and Son Of Havoc had the ring for the next couple hours, so they were gonna practice focusing on height differentials on the matted floor till their arms gave out.

That's what Konnan _told_ them anyway. Most of the time was actually spent standing around watching Ivee tripping up and tapping out the other biker in the practice ring. Konnan whispering commentary about her technique and how, if Puma just paid more _attention_ , he could be pulling off the kind of crazy stuff a " **real** fighter like _her_ was!"

Johnny thought he saw Ivelisse send a wink the coach's way, following the rather loud... statement.  
He also thought he saw Puma balk at the exchange. Weird.

Konnan, looking almost sheepish after that, put an arm around Puma's shoulders and whispered something about him being his 'favorita, no importa que' before pulling all three of them away from ringside and back over to their comfy slice of practice mat.

At least it wasn't time _wasted_. Even Johnny was pretty sure he'd learned... _something_ from watching that whole biker brawl thing. Even if that something had been to never mess with the 'Baddest In The Building'. Unless of course, you _wanted_ your arm twisted just so behind your back till the shoulder popped out of joint.  
Not that Ivelisse had done that in the ring. Johnny just knew that she _could_. And that he didn't want her to.  
Man -it clicked in his head as he bore witness to the two exchanging DDT's within the confines of the ring-, they really _had_ let him off easy when all they did that time was steal his lunch. He'd kinda thought they'd been bluffing.

Watching Ivee do exactly what she'd done to him in their numerable spars, Puma felt a tinge of second hand embarrassment for Son Of Havoc. That submission hold was pretty painful, and _that_ one **really** difficult to snake out of. Even just enough to give the tap.

Konnan snapped him out of his daze of 'please never let me be in the same ring as her again' with a loud chastisement about him needing to pay more attention, which wasn't untrue, considering he _hadn't_ been at the time. But then Ivee had winked -At him? Konnan? He couldn't tell!- and suddenly he was worried he was gonna be tossed in there with them, and-

He felt a warm arm encircle his shoulders, and soft words soothing his heart rate back towards its resting pace.  
Konnan's funny little show of mentor's favoritism reminded him that, although demanding, his coach wasn't the kind who'd toss him to the wolves because he'd been distracted by the sight of them tearing each other apart.

Soon as his shoulders relaxed, Konnan was pulling them away from the circus of violence _still_ taking place inside the practice ring, and setting them back up where they were _supposed_ to have been all along.  
Puma set his jaw and dared a Mundo who appeared entertained by something to say, _"What?"_

The fighter just shook his head and took up a 'ready' stance. Whatever. Mundo'd been... less annoying all morning. Aside from all the weird little messages he kept flashing. He could let whatever he was smirking about go. So long as the guy kept up his more serious sparring style. Puma was having to actually _try_ with the holds and pins today.  
It was... refreshing. Almost as if Mundo _cared_ whether he survived his upcoming battle for the Championship.

Before Johnny knew it, they were facing off, then exchanging kicks and checks, ducking relatively careful Clotheslines, and tumbling all over the place faster than they had since Konnan had said 'yes' to letting them spar.  
The occasional chair someone had left sitting out standing in for middle ropes for them to jump off to practice what to do if Cage _caught_ you trying to take him down with a Cross Body Press.

Puma was beginning to relax and react more naturally by the third time Johnny'd caught him from a perfectly executed Press. Konnan had insisted they do that one over until Puma could get out of it _before_ his opponent had time to counter with any number of Backbreakers or Slams.

"Either do it _again_ , or forget you even know the move, 'cause it'll just give Cage another- _That's_ more like it!" Practically shouted the coach as his protégé popped out of the Mundo's arms and landed on his own two feet, ready for something offensive.

Remembering that he hadn't tried his hand at a Spanish translation, Johnny leaned in just an inch or two, to a proximity not generally recommended one bring themselves to an opponent, and went for it.  
"Lo ciento por-" was all the _very_ close Johnny had time to whisper, before he was pulled into a Whip, which he Reversed, sending Puma far enough away that he could flash him a, _"Sorry,_ instead. Pretty sure Konnan didn't catch that one either. His intended had though, and that's what mattered.

By the time the next hydration break met them halfway, about the time Ivelisse and el Hijo De Havoc called it quits in the practice ring, Puma's reaction to his sparring partner's antics, the pace of which hadn't slowed, was one of mild nonplus.  
With that brand of indifference, something was bound to give soon!

Again, before having a chance to get some juice in him, Johnny Mundo found himself with a less than peachy Prince Puma facing him down. This time, with a countenance of bored, genuine curiosity.

 _"You-"_ and Johnny felt a flicker of despair as the rest of the sentence was lost on him. Though it was obvious, even to him, that Puma was signing slowly and deliberately, Johnny's vocabulary just wasn't up to snuff.

"He asked if you 'mean it'," supplied a Konnan who'd _appeared_ next to Johnny's elbow. "Don't know why he even _tries_ with you," he added, shaking his head but not walking away.

Johnny, _not_ flinching at the sudden proximity, nodded 'thanks' to the coach who wasn't looking at him, and set a determined gaze Puma's direction. "Yes. Cada palabras. I'm-" He cut himself off when the fighter across from him moved his hands again. Still completely lost as he concentrated on the patiently crafted, likely baby sign simplified, words.

Konnan turned enough to squint up at Johnny, lips curled at the corners _just_ enough to be concerning, and translated, "He said, 'Stow it or I'll kick your a-'"

The Champ took a couple loud steps forward, looking riled up and pointing accusingly at his mentor. A mentor who started chortling and leaning on his cane for support while he composed himself.

"I'm sorry- perdoname, hijo. I couldn't resist! The look on this gringo's face!" The laughing petered, Konnan wiped an eye, straightened up, and looked a cross armed Puma straight in the frustrated face.  
"I know, baby. No haré un hábito de ella," promised a well sobered coach, who swiveled his head back to that of a discombobulated Mundo.  
"He _actually_ said, 'You can give it a rest. I'll think about it.' How's that?" He asked of the Prince.

Puma gave a thumbs up and turned on a heel, peeling off for the cantina and a waiting box of milk with his name on it. Literally. His name was on the carton. Johnny'd seen it earlier.

Johnny wasn't sure what to make of... all that. Looked like Puma didn't appreciate being misinterpreted, for starters. Also looked like Konnan had a vicious sense of hu-

"Hey, Mundo." Oh geez, he hadn't left! The Barbarian was _still_ standing right next to his elbow, watching him watch Puma leave the gym in a huff.

He took an involuntary gulp and said the first thing that came to mind. "Yeah?"

An eyebrow raised at the strained pitch of the word, Konnan gave Johnny a good scrutinizing from closer up than the taller fighter was comfortable with before continuing. "They offer classes para adultos down at the community center. Not too far from here."

"Oh? That's coo-"

"You know: macrame, lip reading, Spanish, basic job skills. They even teach people how to read down there. You ever heard of a place that does that?" He looked like he expected an answer too.

"Not aside from a preschool or-"

"It's a great place. Might wanna check it out sometime," he said, pulling his glasses down his nose far enough that Johnny was pretty sure they'd fall clean off if he let go of them.

The long haired one nodded and took a step to the side, getting the Barbarian far enough away that he couldn't feel his breath on his arm anymore.  
"That sounds-"

"Puma needs friends he can trust." Johnny stilled at the sudden shift of subject. "He thought you were that kind of friend, and if you're _damn_ lucky, he'll give you a second chance to prove it to him," the coach closed the 'distance' between them and poked the professional Luchador in the chest. "Don't prove the kid wrong again."  
Then the dead serious expression melted away, replaced by a face that struck far less unease into Johnny's chest; one tinted with the slightest layer of... approval, of all things.  
"Keep up the good work, Mundo."

"Will do, je- boss," Johnny managed the save in the nick of time. Earning only an eye squint for his near transgression.

"Let's get some jugo in you. Before Puma's ready to hit it again," Konnan offered, turning to trundle toward the cantina.

Johnny couldn't help the way his head and chest rose at the almost praise. And the 'advice' concerning the community center. Konnan must _really_ be warming up to him if he was suggesting he learn stu-  
He'd _translated_!  
The Barbarian had stood elbow to elbow with him and **translated** , when he could _far_ more easily have just stood back and watched the 'gringo' flounder.

Wow. Looked like he had a new friend! With Konnan in his corner... it all still hinged solely on Puma's decision, but if the Champ's coach didn't hate him, that had to count for _something_. Right?

 _Ready_ for some juice, Johnny jogged to the cantina, a brand new fondness for the retired Luchador hopefully not visible as he made for the 'fridge' for a 'cool' refreshment.  
He turned to take in the sight of Prince Puma sitting at the ancient table, autographed milk carton in one hand making frequent trips to his glorified milk chute of a mouth, and Konnan The Barbarian easing himself into the seat opposite, a fresh cracked water bottle waiting within reach.

Johnny took a seat between them, not closer to one than the other, and together they all drank in relative silence. Lots of sipping, breathing, slurping, the occasional 'wrong tube' cough, and at least one seat readjustment, but no commentary.  
As weird as it sounded; it was kinda nice. No one giving off color vibes, nor derisive, 'Maybe no one likes you because you suck?' glares. Just... a quiet 'water' break.

The remainder of the workout day flew by. Sorta like Puma kept flying by as he swooped from one end of the practice ring to the other, consideration for Cage's higher shoulders and head working its way into his rope game and offensive flips.  
Johnny kept up as best as he figured the Machine should be able to and snatched the Luchador with a wild cat's agility out of the air when it felt as if he'd slowed the pace or fumbled some footwork. Konnan never missing such an opportunity to reinforce that it was attention to detail, among other things, that could win or lose a fight like the one creeping up on them.

Puma, for his part, didn't get salty with the on-pointness of his team's corrections. If anything, his determination to get it _right_ intensified and with it, that tiny spark of mirth dancing behind his eyes.

Konnan raised a hand and called the action to a screeching halt, reminders that dinner was a thing prompting the two berserkers to hop out of the ring and go for an instinctive high five.  
The noise of it surprising the both of them into the present, reminding them the reason for Puma's smile being so much smaller than his sparring partner's.

But he'd _been_ smiling, and that was some next level kind of improvement over... the last week plus!  
Sure, the Champ shook it off -as if shaking off a bad taste in his mouth-, then made straight for the locker room, but Johnny could tell: Things were getting better.

He followed not too far behind, looking forward to toweling the gnarly layer of gym grime off his exposed skin.  
He didn't bug the other fighter as he went to his locker and started wiping long hours worth of sweat off his neck.

A minute or so later, as Puma made to leave the locker room for the evening, small duffel slung over one shoulder, the Champ clicked his tongue to grab his sparring partner's attention and lobbed a folded scrap of paper his way. Johnny caught it right as the Prince slipped out of view.  
Unfolding the crisp lines, Mundo found the words 'Apology accepted' staring up at him, shaped in a familiar hand and followed by a little crown.

He slapped his definitely in need of a wash towel into his locker, and found a place to slip the note for safe keeping. Where it wouldn't get sweat stains _all_ over.  
Mission accomplished! He couldn't help the fist pump and the spring in his step that lasted all the way to his third story apartment. Even his lackluster TV dinner, eaten in his living room this time, couldn't bring him down.

Puma had forgive- or, rather; had _accepted_ his apology! That was a monumental step in the perfect direction! Forgiveness then friendship, right?  
Unless of course: the Prince had just written that to get him to stop pestering him nonstop in three languages? Now _there_ was a thought to take the mac out of his cheese. But Johnny wasn't gonna let it. Nope!  
They were _talking_ again! Or, they were exchanging words again, if you wanted to split hairs.

Tomorrow could only spell good things for all three of them, he just _knew_ it!

Johnny had a good night sleep, a good breakfast, and a good time getting to work. All made possible by his knowledge that Prince Puma was no longer under the impression that Johnny Mundo didn't care about him.

He joined in on warm ups and once again was ordered to, "Start that form again. _Puma_ wasn't paying attention." Hearing a similar amount of snickering from behind him through the exercise, but even less complaining from Konnan's corner. The difference a day can make.

By lunch time, Johnny noted with excitement, Puma was allowing himself to grin again, and laughing at the occasional punny joke he or Konnan made at the Machine's expense.  
Even his occasional forlorn 'staring off into space' moments seemed to be disappearing. Which was good, because it meant the Luchador was in the present, _ready_ to practice some counter wrestling. Ready to dodge that Discus Lariat. **Ready** to lock in that hold and pull until someone as big and as strong as even Cage would be forced to submit.

The last of the fighters they'd been sharing the gym with filtered out around quitin' time. Mascarita Sagrada bidding them a thoughtful, "Buenas tardes!" before making his way out to the locker room.  
They sent a mix of languages after the Luchador Enmascarado, all wishing him a 'good evening' as well, then all three looked at each other and snickered. That'd sounded pretty funny. Three disparate yet identical sentiments all at once? They made more of a hot mess than they did any sort of team! At least they were synchronized.

Puma just couldn't help it. After scribbling on that piece of paper and making sure Mundo got it, he'd felt... lighter. More himself.  
He'd slept better, he'd eaten a full breakfast, and he hadn't felt like arguing with Konnan when he got in the next morning.  
His fighting was less distracted, his technique was spot on and, to his elation, being _matched_ by a fastidious sparring partner.

In the heat of an intense exchange, it almost felt as if the last couple weeks had never happened. It was just Johnny Mundo and himself trading perfectly timed moves the likes of which a crowd could _really_ dig their teeth into. Konnan off to the side keeping them on track and, weirdly enough, calling Mundo by his name far more often than by an insult.  
He'd never thought he'd see the day.

He'd... lost hope in ever regaining what J- Mundo and he had shared, for that brief span. A friendship- a _connection_ that had changed the way a day of repetitive workouts and never ending reps had **felt**.  
Having someone around who _got_ you as well as he'd thought Mundo had; it painted a day a brand new color. Made sparring an exercise in synchronicity. Made a 'water' break a mini vacation.  
Made a promise broken carry enough weight to break his hea-

He sucked in a breath and refocused his attention on what he was _supposed_ to be doing.  
Wow. He was pretty high off the ground for someone who was supposed to keep himself uninjured for an upcoming fight. His head _had_ to be 'bout fifteen feet in the ai- Oh. He was standing on a ring post. Facing out of the ring. That was weird.

"Puma, baby, estás bien?" Sounded like it came from right underneath him. He glanced down without moving his head, not interested in overbalancing, and caught sight of Konnan standing ringside. The coach's face conveying more than the thoughtful words could on their own.

 _"Shooting Star?"_

Konnan gave a discrete 'thumbs up' and backed a few feet for a better view.  
Puma glanced behind himself, getting the image of a **ready** Johnny Mundo in his peripheral.  
They must both have agreed to this, so the Champ crouched _just_ so and sprang, going head over heels and landing in the waiting arms of... someone who obviously hadn't been ' **ready** ' _enough_.

The two of them tumbled to the mat, Puma still in the grip of a Mundo who was trembling with exertion. Hm, maybe it was time they took a break?  
Never mind. The guy was trying -and now failing- to hold in some pretty serious laughter. Had he landed on him _that_ hard?

Puma extricated his body from the vibrating arms and stood to stare down at a reddening Mundo.  
After a couple seconds of that, he glanced out the ring at Konnan, who seemed similarly perplexed. Then the long haired Luchador cleared his throat, sat up, and wiped at his face. Looking ready to spill.

"Yeah, pretty sure the Machine is gonna be experiencing some 'technical difficulties' after a Press like _that_!" He trilled, wiping at his eyes.

"You're right, Mundo," two heads snapped to the coach, both sporting identical 'what?' expressions. "He's prolly gonna need a mechanic after Puma's done with him."  
Now they were both laughing, matching incredulity creeping across their faces as Konnan smirked in satisfaction.

"I didn't know you had a sense of humor!"

" _I_ didn't know you had the brains to make up your own jokes. Puma must've knocked some sense into you!" The coach slapped the ring apron a few times, visage contorted into one which, on anyone else, would have looked like 'help, I'm in pain', but on him probably meant 'I'm too funny for my own good'.  
His mentor's reaction was enough to set him off on another round of chuckles, which he's pretty sure anyone in the gym could hear; coming through his nose almost hard enough that if he'd been drinking milk, it'd be sputtering out along with it.

Had he crossed over into The Twilight Zone? No other explanation for **those** two to be tandem joking. It didn't even look like Konnan was secretly waiting for them to turn their backs so he could attack Johnny from behind for getting them all _way_ off task!

"Alright, back to business," _there_ it was! Sounding strangely non chastise-y. "That was a good Shooting Star. Let's try out your Moonsault; you never know when a surprise 'Sault could come in handy." He looked between the two fighters attempting to swallow giggles in the practice ring and shook his head slowly. One half of his mouth cocked in a _slightly_ 'up' direction.  
"Órale, niños!"

They hopped to it after that, not interested in pressing their luck with the guy holding what looked like a shiny new steel cane. Hm. Puma hadn't noticed till just then. He'd have to say something later, 'cause it looked really nice an- Was that a _Puma_ for a handle!?  
Wicked.

Damn, Konnan was going soft. He couldn't even bring himself to be a hard-ass at Mundo for sidetracking practice on stupid puns!  
It was all that lovable lug Puma's fault! His happy face and endearing chuckling... And Mundo'd brought it outta him too. Konnan couldn't yell at _anyone_ who could pull his protégé out of a funk like he'd been zoning into way up there on the ring post.  
Come fight night, if there weren't any big setbacks, Puma'd be ready to **dominate**.

At least the kids were back at it when he finally managed to raise his voice.  
Heh. He still had it!

"Buenas tardes!"

 _"'Evening MS!"_ He was pretty sure the Luchador Enmascarado caught the response before turning to leave.  
Then the echoes of two other 'you too's registered and his funny bone twitched. _Three_ languages? Seriously?

He clutched at his middle, which, what with all the laughing that day, had gotten quite the work out when compared to those several of... morose despondency.

He glanced over at his hunched, practically wheezing with mirth sparring partner and had the strangest thought: He shouldn't need to hold a grudge.

It had become obvious the guy was sorry, and Puma _almost_ believed the bit about him having **meant** to be there for the fight, so what was stopping him from letting go of that last bit of hurt and resentment?

Right. The lie about _why_ he hadn't been there.

Puma didn't like lies and as a general rule, he stayed away from the people who cooked them up and handed them out like so much Halloween candy.  
He wore a mask, but that didn't mean he was into accepting candy from strangers.

The lie, to his relief, hadn't been repeated in over a day. He wasn't holding his breath for the truth, but... the blue tinged happiness he could feel at hearing Konnan and Konnan's supposed least favorite Luchador laughing back and forth? So long as he wasn't being actively lied to, he could see this working.  
He could see them being friends again. Someday. Pasito a pasito.

Soon as the three scruffies managed to slip out of the ring and get some more hydrating done, Konnan had them run through a warm down and dismissed them for the evening. But not before reminding them that tomorrow was 'the day'.  
"And Puma?" Johnny saw the younger fighter's body tighten, ready for anything his mentor might have to say. "You bring your 'A' game, like you did today; there's no way that Machine can beat you." The coach gave that a moment to sink in, then held an arm out, toward his protégé. "Venga-" and before he could finish, he was engulfed by a full on Puma hug.

Johnny felt a warmth in his chest at the sight. Then he realized he was staring and averted his eyes, deciding that picking at the dirt under his nails would give the two the privacy they deserved.  
When Konnan mumbled something in Spanish that sounded like encouragement, he did his best to not listen in and concentrated harder on that little whisker of cuticle that was threatening to come right off. He needed to take better care of his nai-

Oh. Konnan was leaving? Already out the gym entrance and taking the corner. Oops. He must've been _hyper_ focusing to not hear the 'good bye'. Or maybe it'd been a silent one?  
He flicked his attention back to Puma just as the Champ was turning to look at him. Their eyes met and stayed there longer than they'd had the opportunity, or perhaps _inclination_ , to in... quite a while.

"Uh, great practice today. I'll be rootin' for you tomorrow," Johnny said, trying _hard_ not to fidget and scratch at the back of his own neck. "I'll be in the building. Probably hanging with Gabby and Federico and Clara... Who _has_ _ **not**_ yelled at me. In case you were wondering, for some rea-"

 _"Okay, J,"_ signed a Puma who appeared to barely be suppressing both annoyance and another bout of the chortles. _"See you-"_ followed by a loose fist coming forward and away from the Champ's cheek in a sign Johnny figured must mean 'tomorrow'.

They exchanged a fist bump and Puma took off for the locker room. Which happened to be the place _he'd_ been planning on going, but decided to hold off on for a minute. So they wouldn't be forced to do that awkward 'second goodbye' thing.

Instead, he brought himself to the Center Of The Universe, lengthened his breathing just so, and Stepped Out. Eyes half lidded, concentrating on his ins and outs, pushes and pulls. Feeling the movements come from his center and extend to his palms and the soles of his feet.  
He cleared his mind of clutter and let the day's events wash away, like water over the rock bed of a babbling brook. Managing the best pace out of the form that he'd been able to achieve in... a _while_.

When the White Crane's Wings hit their full extension, Johnny's eyes snapped wide as they went and his breath caught.

Puma'd called him 'J'.

One Wing tip floated over his mouth while the other fell to his side.

Was it possible? Were they... _friends_ again?

Doing his best to not bite through his bottom lip at the thought and the swelling emotions it precipitated, the long haired 'Ender Of Worlds' started his form from the beginning, feeling a new determination behind every movement.  
He was gonna **be** there for that fight. For himself, for Konnan, and for his friend, Prince Puma.

And this time, nothing in all of Boyle Heights was gonna get in his way.

 **Daaaang, Mundo. Gettin' a little** ** _intense_** **near the end there. Understandable I suppose.**  
 **Might wanna hold onto some of that intensity though. I hear the next part in the series is gonna be kinda... Well, we could call this one a bit of a calm before a storm. Of sorts. If everything goes according to plan!**


	10. Puma And Cage's World Famous Rematch

**It looks like Puma is still in need of a little help getting ready for his Boyle Heights Street Fight against the Machine known as Cage. Even though it's the day of the match!  
Will the frazzled, distracted, Luchador be prepared when the time comes to kick some major butt?**  
 **Konnan the Barbarian and Johnny Mundo are there to keep him sane and safe. Up until the bell anyway.**

The day of the fight, Johnny didn't bother with a disguise. Sure, people at the Temple hadn't recognized him in it last time, but whoever had decided he shouldn't attend the fight _had_.  
'Sides, he was gonna be kickin' it with the cool kids this evening _anyway_. He didn't need to blend in with the crowd.

All he needed to do was keep a weather eye on his three, six, and nine and keep moving. He stopped for water in the park and smiled at the sight of children playing in the modestly sized play gym. A parent sitting nearby, keeping tabs and making sure no one _roared_ loudly enough to disturb the nearby residents.  
Heh. Must've been into the discovery channel.

Johnny made it inside the Temple, unmolested and unthreatened, all of seven seconds before he heard Konnan curse under his breath at needing to pull out his Lucha ID 'every single time!'.  
He waited for the coach to get through and stow his card in his bulky bag before waiving. "Buenas días, je- boss." He received an unimpressed eyebrow raise for his troubles. "What are you doing here so early? The fights don't start until-"

"I _always_ get here early anytime my fighter's on the card." Johnny's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Gotta make sure no funny business goes down between now and when Prince Puma takes the ring in the main event."

"Security's right over there. Don't they do a good enough job?" This time he got a half lidded look positively _dripping_ in 'really?'

"They check IDs. I check turnbuckles, ropes, lockers, el baño, under the seats in the first and last rows," Konnan seemed to cut himself off, perhaps not wanting to give away secrets of the paranoid coach trade. Then his eyes narrowed and he stopped his progress through the main hall. The better to 'look' Mundo in the face.  
"What're _you_ doing here this early? You don't have a fight on the books."

"Uh," Johnny fought against an unexpected taughtness in his stomach at the pointed question. "I told Puma I'd be here. For the fight. Rooting for him." He broke eye contact with the veteran ring warrior and gazed at the ring, unlit and kinda dusty. "I wasn't taking any chances today. So," he looked back at the coach, who had also been eyeing the ring, though with a very different expression, "here I am! Oh, I can help you with-"

"No. No way; I do this part of my job _alone_." The edge to Konnan's eyes softened some at the disappointment obvious in Johnny's drooping shoulders. His voice also shifted some.  
"If you wanna stick around and make yourself useful," the coach had to hold back a smirk at the comical perk the long haired Luchador didn't know he was doing, "you can make sure the milk in the 'fridge' hasn't turned, and check the first aid closet for ice packs that _aren't_ past expiration. Might come in handy, after Puma lays the beat on that Machine."

"On it, boss."

The day of the fight, Puma felt the nerves starting up like they hadn't since his first day at the Temple. If he held his hand straight out he could almost _see_ the shaking of adrenalin and... He wished Konnan, his sparring partner, and he had some sort of practice session scheduled today.  
He knew trading blows wasn't a good way to prep for a Street Fight, day of, but the Champ was feeling like a rookie coming in for his first bout in front of real people.

Not able to take the stress a minute longer, he grabbed his duffel and made for the Temple about the time he did most days; _way_ too early for someone who had the Main Event slot for the night.  
He got sidetracked on the way there by a pushcart of shaved ice and the nice older gentleman in the awesome hat pushing it.  
Crunching his cherry vanilla icy confection, with _extra_ condensed milk happily drizzled on by a rather entertained looking server, he sat on a park bench and managed to forget all about why it was he was even outside today.

About halfway to the bottom of his cup of heaven, he heard the patter of tiny, sneakered feet traveling in a strangely _his_ direction.

"'Scuse me, Mister," came a high pitched call for attention. To which Puma wrenched his very shaved ice focused faculties.  
"Is yours cherry with vainilla?"

Puma nodded at a barely over three foot tall youngster who happened to be holding a cup identical to his in a hand less than half the size.

"Did you get leche dulce on top?"

Puma nodded again, tipping his cup in the kid's direction just enough that the colorful contents were visible.

"Carmelo?!"

Both heads turned to seek out the caller, catching sight of the pushcart and ice magician halfway across the park, being handed money by someone who seemed to be _wearing_ a toddler around their chest. A second barely not toddler clutching one of the adult's pant legs or a styrofoam cup in each tiny mit.

"I was right, Papi!" Responded the child- Carmelo with enough sudden volume that Puma flinched.  
The awesome hatted gentleman and his pushcart revitalized their momentum through the park as the person laden down with children trying not to spill their hand shaved ice treats started off towards the bench where child number three was setting down his cup. With great care, first making sure their were 'no ormigas'.  
"I like your Prince Puma mask," said a Carmelo who was peering and reaching behind himself. Preoccupied enough that he missed the surprised expression Puma's face made at being recognized.  
Out from what must have been either a pant-band or a rear pocket, the child pulled a little yellow sack, which he held up and unfurled. Revealing that it was also covered in red dots.  
"I'm not 'sposed to wear mine when I eat. You got lots of practice with yours, huh?"

Puma nodded, a little smile showing off his slightly red stained front teeth. The kid smiled back, showing off his _missing_ front teeth. That time, he caught Puma's surprise and giggled in response.

"Ai, Carmelo. I hope you've been using your manners with your new friend," said a friendly looking parent who was most _definitely_ wearing a diminutive child on his torso.

"Si, Papi! And I was right; his favorite _is_ cherry y vainilla tambien! I could tell!" Said by a kid who's sugary treat must have been kicking in, considering he was now bouncing in place. Feet impressively spending more time off the ground than on.

"Calma, mi leoncito," said the papi, to good effect. Seeing as the bouncing nearly stopped but the grin stayed put. The adult then addressed the masked, duffel toting, shaved ice munching also adult on the bench. "Did he really guess it right? About the shaved ice?"

Puma, thinking that he liked the cadence of the guy's voice, nodded and repeated the tilting of the cup for inspection.

"Wow, Carmelo. Looks like you have an eye for people!"

"And shaved ice!" Said by an excited boy who had set his mask on the bench and begun slurping and chomping in turn on the chilly cup of dessert.

"Oh yes, of course," the father said, turning again to Puma. "I see Carmelo's shown off his mask. Cute, huh? A nice abuelo at the centro comunitario helped all mis niños get the details _just_ right." As he finished his sentence, two more yellow masks made themselves visible, one on a tiny child-head which popped into view from around the papi's legs.  
"Right on queue," he grinned at the antics. "You want to introduce yourself, Mascarita Amarillo?" He asked, giving the no longer hidden kiddie an encouraging nudge.

The little one came forward, about even with Carmelo, made tentative eye contact and waved.

A dumbstruck Puma waved back. Only then having **realized** that the three masks were recreations of _his_! Done in cloth and with the hand eye coordination of small children, but... he was looking at his own private fan club.

The even smaller than Carmelo Enmascarada in the tunic and sport pants glanced away and put a hand to her chest. Puma, worried that the child might be in need of an inhaler, glanced at the completely non-worried father, felt rather reassured, and looked back to-

Two tiny extended left hand fingers were bumped from above by the same right hand fingers. Eyes still averted, the little Luchadora held up her right hand with thumb and index touching, and the other three fingers splayed. Next she made a loose fist, thumb to the side of the fingers. Then, without pausing, she made the 'V for victory', followed by a lone pinky held aloft.

Puma's eyes went wide. Was he seeing this right?

The tiny hands then came to chest level, palms to the sky, and shook side to side just a few times. She ended off with a palm held out, facing the one she was addressing.

 _"My name's Favi. What's yours?"_

Puma, world rocked, shoved his spoon into what was left of his shaved ice, and-

"Favy, you _know_ only the **real** Prince-" Carmelo's gentle rebuke was cut off as his jaw practically hit the ground.

 _"P-u-m-a,"_ the Underground Champion finally managed to finger spell. Slowly as his suddenly quick pulse would allow. For the children's benefit.

"Knew it!" A giddy Favi whispered at her older, or at least larger, brother. Who was still working at getting his mouth closed.

Having missed part of the conversation, helping the smallest, and now free standing, member of the clan slurp up some vibrant blue slush, the father looked over to see one smug, tiny masked wrestler, and two dumbfounded pescados.  
"Favi, Carmelo, and Victor here insisted on taking classes for American Sign Language after we all read that our favorite Luchador speaks it," he explained. "Favi likes teaching everyone how to spell her name, so-"

"Papi, he understood!"

"Yeah! Then he spelled _his_ name, and it's 'Puma'!" Crowed a Carmelo who looked, and sounded, as if the sugar had really dug its claws in deep. Vibrating just a little, ever so slightly blurred around the edges.

"I _knew_ he was the **real** Prince Puma. Only the **real** Puma could have such a máscara perfecta!" Favi insisted, a hand across his shoulders pulling Carmelo close enough that she didn't need to raise her voice to be heard.

"Dios mío. You couldn't possibly be the Underground Championship holder, eating a shaved ice in _our_ park," he looked between the three giddy faces of the children and his own became unsure. "Or _are_ you?"

 _"I'm Puma,"_ the Champ signed, then held out his hand for a proper introduction.

"Papi!"

"He said his name is Puma!"

"He said it again!" Came a chorus of... _almost_ shrieking angels. At which, the standing man blinked rather owlishly, then took a long stride forward, bent from the waist, and shook hands with a hometown hero.

"How do you do, Mr. Puma? I'm Paco and these are my three babies; Carmelo, Faviola, and Victor- ¡Ay, I already told you their names! Um," a bit flustered, the papi remembered to release the Luchador's hand only _after_ receiving an adorable nudge in the thigh from one of the tikes.  
"We've seen all your fights! Haven't we?" Resounding nods. But his- Paco's eyes only stayed appeased a second or two.  
"We haven't had the pleasure of catching any live though."

Puma cocked his head and pointed in the direction of the Temple, not at all _far_ from the park itself.

"We've seen the Temple, but during the day," Puma watched the guy pause for a smirk break, a soft look in the eye tempering the expression to one of fondness.  
"Mi marido, their daddy, is in law enforcement and _really_ doesn't like the idea of a single parent with three babies walking- nor bussing, Favi," Puma saw the now unmasked munchkin pull a sour face at the foiled plot. Though she did a good job of hiding it from her papi behind the cup she was busy slurping dry. Puma had the feeling that the observant Paco caught it anyway.  
"Yeah, even _I_ agree with him on that one. Most nights," said with a wry disappointment tweaking his brow.

"Even though we're always good-"

"Daddy's always worried about us!" Carmelo thoughtfully finished for a Favi who's mouth was pretty **full** of purple stained shaved ice; all threatening to fall out if she wasn't _very_ careful.  
Puma had to applaud her technique. Impressive for one so young, and with no brain freeze to boot!

"Why Daddy no gusta Lucha?" Chimed in the youngest of the bunch, the entire blue stained bottom half of his face trembling along with his bottom lip.

"Ay, mijo. Que he dicho? Your daddy likes Lucha Libre, but the Temple is not a place for such young Luchadores such as yourselves," explained a Paco who'd gone down on one knee, pulled a cleaning wipe from some magical 'parent supplies' realm, and proceeded to mop the majority of the chaos off his baby's face.  
Without stopping the cleanup efforts, he turned to Puma to continue. "Victor here has an earlier bed time than everyone else and so doesn't see as much of his daddy. A daddy who loves to watch the highlights of all the matches while we massage each other's feet."

"And I put your shoes away!" Said a Carmelo who was now finished with his treat and _might_ have been trying not to eye the remainder of Puma's. The Champ brought the cup closer to his chest, just in case.

"And _I_... make the TV quiet, so Victor won't wake up!"

"That's mean!" Cried a Victor who's lip hadn't stopped trembling.

"Mijo, don't worry. Daddy has the day off tomorrow. Then you can tell him all about how you met Prince Puma in _our_ park!" Paco stood then and lobbed the thoroughly blued wipe ten feet into the nearest trash can. Nothin' but net.

All three sugared up tots suddenly looked like it'd just been announced that la Navidad was coming early.

Shaking his head, Paco gestured to his collective flock and informed Puma that, "I told them this morning. They made the same face then too."

 _"Lots of love, huh?"_ Signed a largely one handed Puma, not wanting to chance setting down his half eaten slice of heaven with a sugar fiend of Carmelo's caliber so close.

"Love? Oh yes, we all love the hardworking local police officer with the heart of gold. Don't we?" Again, a chorus rang out in agreement. It was precious.  
"Even though he _especially_ didn't want us to go see tonight's match. For secret 'safety' reasons that he wouldn't tell us about. You'd think he was scheduling a demonstration or something!"

Pumas eyes flew wide open. He'd forgotten all about his _Championship_ match! And he was sitting on a park bench, swapping pleasantries with a local family while eating pure sugar!  
What had his life become?

"Mr. Prince Puma, Sir?" Puma did his best to school his 'I just remembered something that was giving me hardcore anxiety earlier' face to something politely interested and looked down straight into the triple team effect of Victor, Favi, and Carmelo's pleading faces.

"Please, please-"

" _Please_ -"

"Could you sign our masks?"

He smiled at that and once again, pushed thoughts of the Machine known as Cage to the ' _later_ ' part of his mind.  
Stowing his cup between his legs, he rustled around in his duffel for _just_ the thing. The kids gasped in excitement when the perfect tool flashed in the morning sun: a black, multipurpose marker! Works on fabrics!

One by one, the children handed him a Lucha Libre mask styled after his own, love apparent in the stitches, and looked on with reverence and a post shaved ice jitter as one of their idols scribbled with a permanent marker on their handmade art pieces.  
He made sure the crown looked perfect on each one before handing it back, then, as the young ones inspected his penmanship, he gestured toward the grownup with the hands hidden in his own pockets.

"Hm? Me? Oh, I... I couldn't-"

"Papi!"

"Don't be shy! Prince Puma's super nice!" Said a Carmelo who'd just done his best to wipe all tasty remnants from his mouth and was busy shoving his freshly signed mask in place over his face.  
Favi'd somehow already gotten hers on and was helping Victor with his.

"Well... if you're sure-" Puma insisted with a happy nod. "I'd be honored, if you could sign _my_ Prince Puma mask!" Said a papi who seemed to be having trouble regulating his volume, even though it didn't look like he'd had any dessert.

Puma accepted and signed a mask, gingerly pulled from a back pocket, that was about the size of his own and smiled at his adorable fan club. The kind he'd never thought might exist.

"Papi," intoned a well put together Luchadora, "I think Prince Puma's busy por el resto de día. Right, Mr. Puma?"

The Champ, who hadn't known how he was going to excuse himself, stood from the bench with a thankful nod to Favi. Duffel over one shoulder and cup of corn-syrup, food coloring, and melting shaved ice in his off hand.

"What do we say?"

Puma was practically floored once more as three tiny, tiny, and tiniest hands touched correspondingly tiny chins then moved away and down in a chorus of _"Thank you,"_ s.  
Then the children broke off in a sprint for the jungle gym a _ways_ off, nary a backwards glance spared. Puma had to chuckle at that.

"Masks off before you hit the sand!" Reminded the thoughtful parent, looking pleased when the bouncing yellow heads reverted to their natural brunet.

Paco turned back to a Luchador who also found great amusement in the- Was that a cartwheel?! Those kids had some _skills_!  
"I better go referee this free-for-all. _Thank you_ so much, Mr. Puma. They'll remember this for the rest of their lives," the dad looked just a little self conscious over his shaky execution for the signed part of the thank you, but Puma couldn't have cared less about it being shaky or not.  
People were talking _his_ language at him! That only ever happened at the Temple, and even then it was really only Drago and a teensy bit from-

He needed to get _going_! He could feel the nerves returning.

He gave a big thumbs up with his free hand, hoping Paco understood his appreciation, and stood in place just long enough to see the guy smile and begin his jog to the play equipment now _crawling_ with overexcited children.

As Puma started off for the Temple for the second time that morning, spoon full of cherry vanilla slush halfway to his mouth, he thought he heard an entertained, "Rafa's never gonna believe this!"

Johnny'd checked and double checked the milk in the fridge, and separated by expiration date everything in the first aid supply closet -nearly _half_ of the paraphernalia in there was in need of replacing-, and written a note to Dario Cueto requesting an upgrade to the few amenities he offered the fighters, by the time he saw Konnan again. By the looks of it, the coach had been over every inch of the main hall and under every chair, if the dust, sweat, and huffing were anything to go by.

"Alright, boss. Anything else I can-"

Just then, the sound of some decidedly bouncy strides caught their attention, and the two turned to see a Puma stuffing his Lucha ID into a small duffel, making quick work of eating up the space between security and where Johnny'd found Konnan; staring at the ring.

 _"What're you..."_ all of the question Johnny caught.

"I could ask you the same thing, Campeón," said a suddenly refreshed Konnan. "Your fight's not till- espera un segundo," he said, squinting and drawing close to the happily grinning Puma. "You get into a fight on the way here? Tu dientes están sangrientos."

 _Bloody?!_ Johnny came forward and his eyes about bulged when he caught sight of the red staining those teeth. And lips, if you looked closely, but not so much the mask; so the Champ probably hadn't been spitting any. Meant it likely wasn't as bad as it could be.

Johnny saw the smile disappear from Puma's face at the sudden accusation and close scrutiny, but it returned full force before either he or Konnan had a chance to worry _too_ much.

 _"No..."_ Well, Johnny just hoped Konnan was up to translating. Because, hard as he tried, he couldn't keep up with the smooth explanation... or excuse, or ' _happy birthday_ ' for all he could tell.  
He _really_ needed to learn more ASL.

"Uh-huh. So, no fight; just food coloring from a snow cone?" Puma indicated 'yes'. "Mijo, how many times I tell you, 'never get distracted on the way in'? Especially the day of an important bout?! What if some thug-"

"Was it tasty?" Johnny interjected, knowing _he_ wouldn't want to be yell lectured by a Barbarian this early in a day as weighty as the one they found themselves poised to tackle.

Puma's confused disappointment melted away as he shifted his attention and showed off his usually pearly whites in Johnny's direction.  
The Champ brought a pretty much splayed hand to the side of his own mouth, middle finger and thumb tips pressed together, then came away in a bit of a swing up and out to the side.

"Yeah, 'delicious' or not, at least rinse your mouth out. You don't got time for cavities," reprimanded a Konnan who'd taken up a pretty relaxed posture for nearly biting his protégé's head off mere seconds ago. "That Máquina ain't winning on account of a toothache."

Puma's happiness seemed to evaporate at the last sentence. Mouth becoming a tight line and eyes darting around the cavernous hall, as if worried that Cage might be there already. Waiting.

The difference a second could make. Johnny was concerned for Puma, wondering whether his current unease was the true reason for his coming in as early as he had. If so, had he gotten a full night of sleep? What about-

"You eat breakfast this morning?" Konnan took the thought right out of his head. It sounded a _lot_ more in place being asked by the coach anyway.

The younger Luchador seemed to put _effort_ into yanking his attention back before rolling his eyes and making a 'duh' gesture.

"Yeah, yeah. You don't want me 'micromanaging' your life, don't act like you need it," said Konnan, sounding very much like he was continuing an old conversation.

A 'next subject' look on his face, the Champ indicated an obviously 'gym' direction and raised a closed hand in front of his chest, parallel to the ground, index extended, then ran the fisted remaining hand back and forth over the finger. Huh.

"No. You know there's no practice the day of a- Don't give me that look! That's just the way it _is_."

Puma, 'look' still stuck on his masked face, rubbed a flat palm against his chest in a little circle. _Right!_ He'd taught that one to Johnny!  
 _"Please,"_ and the rest lost him. Looked like a colloquial gesture for 'crazy' was mixed in there, with the one finger making a swirl next to the head, but other than that...

"Maybe you should have stayed home and _relaxed_ then! If you're so-" Konnan, cutting _himself_ off for a change, flicked his attention over to a befuddled looking, "Mundo,"

"Uh, yeah, boss?"

"Take Puma back there and put him through a long form. I got a lot of _things_ to do and only until they start lettin' people in to do 'em."

"Wh-"

"Don't ask questions; just do it! This kid ain't touching a weight nor a wrestling ring until they call for main event tonight. ¿Entender?"

"Yeah, got it b-"

"And stop calling me that! I don't run y-"

"Alright. On the job! See ya later, Konnan!" Johnny called over his shoulder as he led a reticent Puma by one wrist through the Temple to the locker room to drop off his duffel and yellow hoodie, then to the deserted gym.

Puma was looking tense. Distracted. Maybe even nervous. Very unlike what Johnny'd grown accustomed to seeing of the Luchador before or after a fight, regardless as to whether it happened to be a main event spot.

"You cool with this? We could just take a break or-" he stopped at the firm nod and shake, assured that Puma wanted to give the exercise a go.  
"Cool..." He said, rubbing his hands together. "Well, this usually starts with some stretching- Yeah, that's what we'll do." So he took them through some basic stretches and got them to the Center Of The Universe without a hitch. His student being pretty quiet throughout for... being Puma. Even at the Stopping Thirty Horses stretch. Not even a snicker. Poor guy must've been pretty distracted.  
Time to pull out a little of what many uninitiated might call the 'boring part'.

He turned to face his student, still standing at The Center, and made sure he had his attention before saying, "Now, we close our eyes and breathe." _That_ got a reaction. Though, little more than an eyebrow raise and Puma's eyes were shut.  
"Don't force it. Just feel your diaphragm expand... and contract." He let it go at that for at least half a minute, closing his eyes himself and trusting the fighter across from him not to sneak off and leave him talking to an empty room.  
Like some sorta weirdo.

"Still breathing, we wiggle our toes; becoming aware of our feet, feeling their connection to the earth below us." He could _hear_ Puma's steady 'totally not forcing it' attempt at centering. And wiggling his toes. So he took a relaxed breath, hopefully showing his tense student how it's done, and moved on. "Now we become aware of our knees, giving them a gentle jiggle." The slight swish of pant material informing him when the Champ got the idea of how that was supposed to work.  
"Our hips next. Without moving our upper bodies, we circle the hips slowly clockwise... then counterclockwise; feeling the balance of our posture and becoming aware of our middle."

Johnny knew the patter could get old, but the repetition could also be soothing, so he kept at it. Moving them through the hands, arms and shoulders, neck and, "Now, we stand straight, mindful of the limitless universe and vibrant sky above us, and tap the top of our head with one hand; becoming aware of the top of our head and its connection to those forces. Finally, aware of our entire body, we relax and consciously allow the energies of the sky and of the earth to flow through us... feel them if you can... Stay there a while."

Johnny knew that that was a lot to expect someone fresh to it to... appreciate, but the way Puma'd looked out in the main hall? He could use some hardcore, disciplined relaxation.  
Hm. Konnan must've had the same thought. Still a genio-

Johnny the 'Instructor' Mundo's eyes slammed open as he realized that this was the first time Konnan had ever _allowed_ the two of them an unsupervised practice. Let alone **told** Mundo to take charge and lead Puma through _anything_ without being there himself, watching.  
Had he somehow managed to gain the coach's... trust? He could feel his eyes starting to sting at the thought.

Thankfully, he remembered what it was he was tasked with doing and refocused on the Luchador standing only a double arm's length in front of him, a look of concentration betraying the fighter's lack of true understanding of the exercise. That was fine though. Not all that many got it the first time.

"This," he spoke softly, so as not to jar anything the Prince may have had going, "is the center of the universe." He watched the face across from his take that in, cogitation obvious in the little, barely visible, eyebrow scrunch.  
"Now, we step out."

Johnny ran his 'student' through an entire long form without starting over. Probably- No- _Definitely_ because Konnan wasn't there to see Puma tripping over himself that one time, nor hear the sparse huffs of laughter at form names he'd never heard before.  
He was almost concerned over how little mirth the guy was displaying. In all honesty, he'd expected them to have to give it up part way and instead discuss Tai Chi philosophy. On account of all the giggling.

When the form hit its end, the Prince, seemingly ready for _more_ , looked to Johnny for what came next.  
Knowing what an overactive worry center could feel like, the Mundo moved closer and indicated the padded floor.

"Wanna sit?"

Puma cocked his head and gave a shrug, looking as if sitting still was _exactly_ the kind of thing he'd rather **avoid**.

"C'mon," Johnny chided, taking a cross legged seat, "it'll be... interesting."

Well, with an explanation like that, he had the Luchador sitting and making a 'what now' face right at him.

"Now, we close our eyes," he waited for the other fighter to do so before continuing, "and just _be_ here."

Puma's shoulders hitched and dropped at the anticlimactic words. His eyes only half opened though, so it looked like he wasn't rejecting the notion outright.

"Yeah, sounds kinda funky, but... Let's give it a shot?" Johnny closed his own eyes at the nod and settled his heart and lungs to their resting pace. Feeling a sense of contentment at having another close for what, to him, was usually a solitary exercise.

The corners of Johnny's mouth quirked at the sound of his- Puma finally achieving his own center. Then, bobbing on the surface of a long practiced restfulness until he was sure the Enmascarada was staying there, he allowed himself to follow suit.

"What are you two extraños doing?" Came a forceful call that startled both Lichadores from a place of deep calm. "Whatever; it's time for lunch, so get your butts off the floor."

"Coming!" Johnny called after a coach who had no apparent interest in waiting around for them.  
He looked to Puma, still sitting not more than an arm's length from him, looking completely different than the Luchador who'd followed him in there... _how_ long had they been sitting there?  
Wait! It was lunch time! Already?

Puma seemed to come to the same conclusion and pinned his sparring partner with a firm, questioning gaze.

"Don't look at me. It usually takes practice to be able to hold it that lon-" both looked down at a sudden growling noise, relieved to find that it was just a hungry belly making itself known.  
Johnny looked back up to the Prince and pulled a sardonic smirk. "You didn't really eat breakfast. Did you?"

 _"Don't tell Konnan!"_ Came a desperate plea, accompanied by a tinge of pink peeking below the fighter's mask.

"I'm no tattle," swore a Johnny whose smile hadn't shrunk. "But you're eating lunch whether you like it or not."

Puma nodded and crossed his heart, all while springing to his feet and offering a hand up to the guy who'd promised not to get him in trouble.  
Johnny accepted the hand and half-jogged to keep up with the Prince nearly tripping over himself to get to the cantina before Konnan could blow a gasket.

Skidding to a stop behind Puma, right inside the little break room, Johnny was hit by a sight he _definitely_ hadn't been expecting: Tupperware. Set out on the table, with plates and utensils scattered around. Being popped open by a Barbarian who'd leaned his cane against the table edge to better use both hands.  
Was that carne asada? It smelled like heaven either way.

As the coach used big wooden serving implements to dole out rice that looked to have chunks of tomato seared into it, refried beans of a tantalizing brown, and- yep; carne asada with _lots_ of onions, Johnny found his voice.

"Did you _cook_ all this?"

The wonder not lost on Konnan, the mentor spoke with less derision than the gringo'd come to expect of an answer to one of his questions. "My fighter doesn't eat _anything_ could've been tampered with, day of a fight." He looked up long enough to give the long haired Luchador a stern stare. "You never know who- what _establishment_ could be paid off," then the coach's eyes darted to his protégé and narrowed. "We're lucky that hielo picado wasn't envenenado."

Puma averted his eyes and tried to keep the look of 'I done a bad' from the guy with the big wooden spoon. Even Johnny understood that Konnan was just worried and wanted his protégé to exercise more caution next time.

Konnan shoved all the Tupperwares to the middle of the table, haphazardly slinged los platos of food to eating seats, and sat rather heavily in the closest chair. Looking up when no one else moved.  
"Well? Siéntate. Before la comida freezes."

Johnny though, was having difficulty believing what he'd thought was a clerical error on his counting center's part. "Uh... _three_ plates? Konnan, is that-"

"What? You don't like pinto?" Interjected a Barbarian through a half mouthful of perfectly spiced beef.

Johnny, feeling a swelling in his breast at the thought- the _knowledge_ that Konnan had painstakingly prepared a meal with including **him** in mind... had to collect himself, the knuckles of one hand coming to his mouth, before he could sit with the big kids and pointedly _not_ cry into his rice. It was harder than it sounded. Especially when the guy in the yellow mask sitting next to him reached out a hand, hesitant though the move may have been, and patted him on the shoulder.  
He really _did_ have friends at the Temple.

Puma's shock at his coach thinking he'd gotten into some sort of back alley brawl on the way to _work_ barely had a chance to dissipate before he was hit with another doozie: Konnan wanted _Johnny Mundo_ , that 'gringo loco', to take him to a deserted gym and run him through a light practice he wasn't even ' _allowed_ ' to do that day?  
Konnan hadn't left the two of them alone in a room since... well, he'd **never** left them in a private room. Not by choice anyway.

Then he was being led off by a strong, excited hand around his wrist, and before he knew it; they were standing on the precipice betwixt el mundo real, and the world Mundo fabricated out of a soothing monotony and a flowing physical routine.  
All Puma had to do, was exactly as his 'instructor' did and he was focused. Mind put to a task and not allowed to wander to... whatever it had been stressing over all morning. The funky names folks had given the different movements making him chuckle, though he tried his best to 'show some respect', as Konnan had tried and failed to get him to on a less weighty day.

It was almost jarring when it all stopped, leaving his limbs feeling restless and bereft. His mind grasping at the hem of calm as it slithered farther from his reach. Today was... a bad day to have nothing to do.

Johnny'd invited him to sit. Why? He wasn't tired, and he needed to keep moving, needed something to _do_ or he'd be- Interesting, huh? He could work with interesting.  
So he sat, cross legged, and was thoroughly underwhelmed by the next words out of Mundo's mouth. But, peeking to see the guy sitting as close as he was, with that friendly, 'no, this isn't a joke,' look on his face, Puma decided he could humor him for a while.

Trying not to let thoughts of the upcoming match and everything Cage related that'd gone down over the past few weeks overwhelm him, he kept his eyes _shut_ and... hm?  
The sound of Johnny's breathing, if he listened just right, was almost like that funny running commentary he kept up through the forms. If he synced up his own diaphragm, followed the guy's lead, maybe his mind would give it a rest?  
Yeah right.

But, really; just sitting there with a well intentioned practice partner was getting kind of relaxing.

Then Konnan yelled at them from the door, yanking him from... someplace restful, pestering them about being lazy -even though _he_ was the one who didn't want Puma doing anything-, and food. Wait! Food time!? Already?  
Come to think of it, he _was_ -

*Grrrbblle*

Uh-oh.

A Johnny who'd just found him out promised not to sign his death warrant and the two of them booked it to the cantina. Where Konnan was doing something Puma could only describe as 'highly irregular'.

His coach usually brought a baggied cold cut he'd obviously made himself and told him not to set it down between bites. In case some bastardo tried to slip something into it while he was chewing!  
Poor Barbarian must've _really_ wanted to do something nice for him. To cheer up the Champ after... Yeah.

It was touching, and reminded Puma of how relieved he was that Konnan's injury at the hands of the Machine hadn't been any more serious than it already was.  
He tried not to glance at the stitches still shining their bright reminder, as he did as he was told and took a seat!

He had to double take when he noticed that _three_ -he even double counted- places were set. All with the same portions of the same food and with, ostensibly, the same amount of care put into the serving of them. Which is to say, 'not much,' considering the rice and beans were practically on top of each other and the beef was nearly sliding off the side of the plate, but- It was akin to something out of myth. Puma'd never thought Konnan might one day treat _Johnny Mundo_ as un igual. It just plainly hadn't looked like it was in the cards.

A small noise brought his attention to the seat beside his, and the Luchador sitting in it, appearing to be at the cusp of overflow with emotions he might not know what to do with.  
Giving it a second's thought, Puma reached up with a hand which found its way to a powerful, definitely not shaking shoulder, and gave it an understanding pat.  
If Johnny'd somehow made it into _Konnan's_ good books... maybe the emotional, exceptional sparring partner slash Tai Chi instructor, was deserving of a _real_ second chance.  
Maybe it was time Puma... thought about... forgiving the Mundo.

Well, anyway; it was _definitely_ time for chow. So the three chowed.

About the time Puma got laughed at by a long haired Luchador for licking his plate clean, Konnan began going over strategy and -"¡Ai, niño! ¡Modales!"- reminding him of things he'd learned and practiced with the taller sparring volunteer.

"Recuerda, Cage weighs more than Mundo here," the coach cautioned, gesturing mildly at the fighter who'd just tried for a _third_ time to get Konnan to accept his 'compliments to the chef'.  
"He's also nastier, and, as he's demonstrated; not necessarily above hitting below the belt. If he thinks he can get away with it."

Puma, clandestinely attempting to sneak some seconds from the nearest, haphazardly _almost_ sealed Tupperware, nodded.  
He and Johnny both were paying close attention, aside from the game of sticky-fingers the full grown Champ was playing with the container of utterly delicious beef half way across the table, to everything the coach had to say.  
Good thing too, considering the guy actually pop quizzed them every few minutes to make sure.  
Brutal.

"And _why_ are you still hungry?!" The impromptu tutor snapped, causing Puma to relinquish the strip of carne he'd finally managed to pinch between two fingers and yank his hand back to his side of the table.

"Don't worry, Konnan," said Johnny, pulling the heat off the 'hand in the cookie jar' looking Champ. "Puma _definitely_ ate a nutritious, filling breakfast!" Puma tried to make his incredulous reaction invisible, but unless Konnan was ignoring him, the widening of his eyes would be patent.  
"It's just," Mundo grasped at straws, looking for a way to save his a- "It's just that Tai Chi can _really_ give you an appetite! Yep. Uh, completely normal, uh, reaction to your first long form, amigo," the Luchador said, turning some to address the masked addressee.  
"In fact, if I may be so bold," he turned back to a perplexed Konnan, "I recommend seconds. For the hungry fighter. Gotta keep the ole strength up, after a-"

"Yeah, good idea. Your gonna burn a _lot_ of calories in that ring tonight. Better stock up on safe ones mientras puedas."

A Puma who didn't need telling more than once, grabbed up his squeaky clean plate and made quick work of devouring what amounted to nearly a one to one of what he'd already put away. The other two at the table were... impressed, to say the least, and watched on with a strange fascination. Wondering just how much the younger fighter's stomach could hold.

A big, satisfied sigh filled the cantina, closely followed by the second tongue cleaning of a plate and Puma's lids drooping to half mast. He could feel a cat nap coming on. _Fast._  
In fact; he was pretty sure Konnan was talking to him right then, and that Johnny was putting a big, warm hand on one of his shoulders and saying something unimportant. Like his name. He'd have to ask about it, when he could feel his face again.

"Hey, Puma?" Johnny asked, putting a hand on the Luchador's slumped shoulder. "Puma?!" No. It'd been too sudden! One second the Prince had been licking the last _specks_ of perfectly prepared cow flesh from his plate; the next he was face first in the thing and **out**. What substance could have such a fast effect? How had he gotten _anything_ harmful in his syste-

"Leave him be," said a fully relaxed, if not bored, mentor from the other end of the table. "He _does_ that sometimes. S'why I don't like him eating big meals. Pero, este día, it might be a blessing."

Johnny, standing hunched over the Prince and holding a hand near his masked nose to check for healthy exhalation, straightened and retook his seat. "A food coma is a blessing?"

"It's a _nap_ , Mundo. Besides, you saw how stressed he was. Some sleep'll prolly do him some good," the coach said. The while eyeing his protégé and wondering whether the kid had gotten any sleep the night before.

Johnny followed Konnan's gaze and joined in. Eventually coming to the conclusion that they were _both_ being creepers, he turned to the Barbarian to ask, "Should we... move him?" He got a scoff for that.

"Naw. Kid's young; falls asleep in the damnedest places. Never complains about wood needing to be softer." He then pointed at the mask mashed into the 'clean' piece of dishware. "Get the plate? We'll do some dishes."

"On it," Johnny said, standing back up to put a gentle hand under Puma's head and lift just enough to slip the hard melamine plata out from under. He hated the idea of just letting his friend's head lay against the _wooden_ tabletop, but figured the Lucha Libre mask was made of leather and might act as a cushion of sorts. So he set the comatose melon down in the same spot and walked the plate to the sink, where Konnan was starting to soap a sponge over a little heap of flatware and utensils.

The two washed everything, the cleanest looking plate they soaped twice, knowing exactly _why_ it looked so spotless. For the most part, not going beyond, "And this one, aaand this one, and thiiiis one-" "Shut it, Mundo.", for conversation. Checking over their shoulders frequently to be sure their charge was still slumped unconscious against the old as dirt table; not able to hear the Puma's soft breathing sounds well enough over the sound of bubbles and running water, nor the rubbing of a dishcloth, to satisfy.

"Done," proclaimed the one who'd brought the feast in to work that day. Moving on to packing the paltry leftovers into his yellow 'Welcome Baby' tote. Which Johnny eyed, wondering where a guy like Konnan could possibly have come across such a thing.  
"You got something to do, someplace to be, Mundo?" A startled Johnny was rather taken aback by the line of questioning.

"Uh, no. I'm here till the Temple _clears_ ; late night. I'm not missing that match."

"Good. That's what I wanted to hear." The coaches eyes, in the less than optimal cantina lighting, seemed to give off a... soft sort of approval, before he started again. "You watch him? And I mean, don't leave the room for un segundo, kinda 'watch'. I got stuff to do... and people to _vet_ ."

"Sure thing," said a Johnny once more surprised by being given a task Of such import. "Uh, Konnan?"

"Yeah?" Said the coach, pausing right inside the cantina door.

"Thanks for..."

Without turning around, the Barbarian raised and waved a hand in acknowledgement. "Don't mention it. Just... be good to him."  
And Johnny was left alone with a sleeping Puma, wondering at the meaning behind that last cryptic, uncharacteristic request.  
The difference a week could make.

Somehow, Konnan timed his return _just_ right. Walking into the cantina just as a rested up Puma was peeling his head off the table and wiping sleep from his eyes. He gestured for a nearby Johnny to move to the 'fridge'.  
Once there, it took the somewhat zoned out Luchador a few seconds to realize what it was he was supposed to _do_ next. Turned out, sitting in a room doing nothing but listening to the occasional delicate snore and keeping an eye on the odd fighter trickling through the Temple, getting ready for their bouts or just plain getting in an extra day of practice, could put you to sleep if you weren't careful.

Johnny set a pint of milk on the table, right where a slowly waking head had been plastered for an impressive amount of time.

"Drink up, wake up. It's time to get suited up and ready." Informed the guy with a hand on the Champ's shoulder, giving it a bolstering squeeze.

Puma shook his head, though it looked like he was clearing it and not disagreeing. Then his attention lit upon the fresh milk carton sitting before him and he snatched it up and had the whole thing drained before either of the more mature people in the room could tell him to 'take it easy'.  
The Enmascarada crumpled and then tossed the carton straight into the can by the 'fridge', pumping a fist when it didn't bounce back off the growing mountain of refuse.

"Okay, órale. Locker room, stat," Konnan made sure the refreshed Puma left the room before walking out himself, Johnny barely a step behind the coach. Not sure what he might be needed for from there.  
"You planning on watching ringside? Mundo?" Konnan prompted, when it seemed Johnny hadn't understood it was him he was talking to.

"I... don't think that's my place," he murmured, managing to not bite his lip while the older man was glancing at him. "I'm hanging with the EMTs, in the medic standby room."

"Eh, egual de bien. Don't want any bodies getting in the way of all that chaos," Konnan said, free hand making a frazzled gesture. "Don't disappear without a word, entender?" Said rather under his breath.

"Yeah. I got it." Johnny assured, impressed yet again by how much the Barbarian _cared_ about his protégé.

"Bueno."

They walked into the locker room to find an energizer bunny-esque Puma half changed into his tights, hopping around trying to get his second foot through its leg.  
Staring at the animated... goings on, Konnan leaned in and whispered to Johnny, "I'mma go survey the crowd they're lettin' in. Make sure he doesn't forget to lace his boots."

Johnny nodded and found himself alone by the entrance, still staring as the Champ finally wriggled his tights onto his hips and into place. Snapping the pant band for good measure. Puma then got started on his footwear, sitting on a nearby bench and yanking one boot then the other on before starting on any lacing.  
Realizing that, one: he'd been staring for _way_ too long, and two: part of all that bouncing had to be attributable to nerves, he moved into the room and took the seat across from Puma.

"You're... gonna cream that Machine. You know that?" He got a 'I'm tying my boots right now, but; yeah I guess,' shrug-nod combo. Could've been worse. "I'll... be sitting with Clara, Fedrico, and Gabby. We'll be cheering you on," he said, waiting for the lacing to be finished with a bow.  
Before Puma looked up, Johnny'd plucked up the resolve to set a hand on his friend's knee, hoping against hope that it wasn't _un_ welcome.

Puma looked up.

Johnny's throat swallowed against nothing before letting him speak. But the Luchador looking him straight in the eyes beat him to it. _"Thanks, J,"_ the Prince said with his dominant hand. _"Thanks for T-a-i C-h-i practice. K... crazy... thinks... hurt myself!"_

Johnny gave Puma's knee a gentle squeeze, hoping to catch his attention and keep the Champ from getting himself too riled up. "What're friends for?" The slow in coming smile was all Johnny could have asked for.  
And then a warm hand covered the one he'd been about to retract, and he had to double take to make sure he wasn't dreaming.  
Yep. Puma's hand was _really_ pinning his in place. On the yellow covered knee where Johnny'd been happy enough not to have it shaken off.

The small smile turned bashful and a set of Puma eyes glanced down and back up, before his other hand moved back into speaking position. _"I-"_

"Oi, Mundo," and the two turned towards the locker room entrance, hands to themselves once more. "The EMTs are here. Gettin' comfy in their little hideaway; esperándote."

Johnny stood from the bench, reluctance tucked carefully under a demur grin. "Well, better not _keep_ them waiting," he said, taking a step Konnan's direction.  
He stopped at the hand on his shoulder. The same place it'd offered him strength earlier, at a table set for three.

Puma moved to just in front of Johnny and gave him a sentence carefully handcrafted with simplified signage. _"I f-o-r-g-i-v-e you, J."_ Wavering ever so slightly at Johnny's dumbfounded expression, he went on. _"You're my... friend. You're sorry. We're ok."_ Then he held out a hand, fisted and at the perfect height for a-  
*Fistbump*

Johnny wasn't sure whether to go in for a hug or start sniffling, but was saved the trouble of deciding when a testy Konnan cleared his throat from the door.

"We're all happy Johnny's here; but he's got somewhere to be, and _you've_ got a fight to prep for. Órale, niños!"

So the two of them hopped to it, both bolstered by the entire exchange, Konnan doing his best to hide a snicker, and in no time, Johnny found himself greeting a tense group of medical professionals. All squished into their familiar arrangement among the cushioned seating.

"Settle in kiddies. This is gonna be one _bumpy_ -ass ride."

"Amen." Rang a chorus in response to Clara's accurate, if not crude, asseveration.

Federico switched on the radio and the four swapped witty commentary while waiting through a night of epic fights for the main event: Prince Puma, Lucha Underground Champion, versus the Machine known as Cage.

Finally, the fighters were called to the ring, and the opening bell was rung.

After _minutes_ of hearing graphic, colorful descriptions of the atrocities taking place in and _around_ the ring, Gabby closed her eyes and covered one ear, Federico went green around the gills, and Clara... leaned closer to the radio.

Johnny observed the different reactions as a grim reminder that the EMTs considered Puma a friend and, like Konnan and himself, _cared_ whether the Prince was gonna need patching up.  
Well... he wasn't one-hundred percent about Clara, but he was sure none of them wished the Luchador harm. That was a comforting thought.

Matt Striker and Vampiro's descriptions of the two contenders smashing each other onto metal trash cans was especially visceral. Almost enough to get Johnny _and_ the three medics out of their seats. But the match continued as if nothing potentially life threatening had happened, so they kept where they were and just... breathed.  
Although, Gabby might've started praying around then. Not out loud or anything; just, her lips were moving a little and her free hand was worrying a cross Johnny hadn't known she wore around her neck. Must've been hidden by the uniform.

About the time Fedrico put his head practically between his knees, fingers massaging his scalp and messing up his well kept coif, Clara snapped up off the sofa and flipped the radio switch to off. A deep exhale putting a period on the action.  
Before any of the shocked listeners could launch a protest, a particularly loud roar filled the space, the crowd of believers outside far too passionate over the brutal violence for there to be a quiet place in the entire Temple.  
It took multiple seconds for the unending thrum of excitement to die back to its norm, but as it did, Clara cleared an unblocked sounding throat and spoke.

"We should be out there. I don't _care_ about 'professionalism' or 'impartiality'," the latter part said in response to Gabby's mouth opening. "Not in this instance. I care about keeping that kid _alive_ , and I'm pretty sure us sitting here worrying to death isn't gonna help. So let's move our culos somewhere we can see the fight!"

Three culos jumped off their seats in response, spurred by both Clara's impassioned 'reasoning', and another unearthly increase in the believer's decibel count.

The four of them, Federico and Gabby pausing long enough to snatch up each a fully stocked EMT duffel, half-jogged to the end of the hallway that opened to the main hall of the Temple.  
None of them had ever seen the bleachers that full. The floor was _vibrating_ with the applause and stomping, the lights up above practically flickering along.

"Prince Pumaaa!" Rang above it all, an overzealous fan not able to hold it in a moment longer.

The group stopped just inside the relatively cloistered hallway, not wanting to be told to get out of there by a stage hand or referee.  
They didn't see Puma at first. When he and Cage came into view though, they heaved a collective sigh of relief at how uninjured the Champ looked.

"You were right, Clara," Johnny had to yell to cut through the raucous atmosphere.

"Yep," came the simple reply, the medic engrossed in studying the two monsters flipping in and out and in and out and all _around_ the ring.

He looked over at Gabby, who was covering both ears now but otherwise appeared far less stressed. Necklace back out of sight and out of mind.

Federico similarly looked as if he might keep his most recent meal down after all; his skin returning to its normal non-nauseated shade.

Johnny, glad that the others were alright, steeled himself and turned to face the ring. Picking the yellow flash of a flipping Puma out of the flurry without trouble.  
Was that how it looked when Puma leaped off the ring post? Splashing down on a larger opponent, taking them to the mat and hooking that leg _deep_ for a pin.  
It'd been a while since he'd gotten a third person perspective on- wow. That Drop Kick was **perfect**. Perfectly deadly, with every line straight and- It was a thing of beauty. Puma's technique, which _he'd_ been helping get back up to snuff, was far and above anything he'd seen from the Prince in their spars.

Puma looked, especially executing _that_ newest devastating move, like a vengeful, feline God. Taking out righteous retribution on a Machine that'd wronged him.  
It was... Johnny almost teared up.

Eventually the carnage came to an end, the winner was declared, and the few faithful who hadn't already, came to their feet, sending up a roar so powerful, Johnny thought he'd seen the rafters tremble.

Prince Puma was still the undisputed Lucha Underground World Champion. Sure, Konnan'd jumped in there at some point and bonked Cage a good one, but that was just a little payback for putting him in the hospital. Nothin' dirty there.

The moment the red 'on air' indicators went out, the arena was rushed by three medics, one long haired Luchador, and a Dragon-esque fighter no one had noticed until then.  
They were all friendlies heading for a **spent** Puma, so Johnny ignored them and rushed straight for his friend. His friend who'd more than managed to hold onto his title in one of the most violent Street Fights Mundo'd ever witnessed.  
The friend who'd needed all of Johnny's hard won calming and centering knowledge to get his mind off all the negative things that could have gone down in and around that ring.  
The friend who-

 _"J!"_ Came an impassioned sign from a Champion who'd somehow found it in him to drag himself off the mat... and pounce into the surprised arms of his sparring partner.  
Together they tumbled to their knees and Johnny saw more than one 'star' when their heads collided. Hoping the mask offered enough padding so the already abused Prince's head wouldn't be jarred badly, he pulled his head back. Belatedly realizing that that soft smacking was the sound of their lips coming apart from... the other's.  
They'd _kissed_!? Wha- Which of them? Who? Johnny could feel the tingle but- he didn't remember having gone in for a victory kiss!  
His shock was mirrored by a Puma who seemed to be wondering all of the same things, but who _definitely_ wasn't about to slap somebody over it.  
The conclusion that it had been either a complete, happy?, accident, or the two of them working together was reached in a shared nod.  
It was cool. _They_ were cool.

Blushing, they looked around, all the screaming reminding them where they were, to find an entire team of familiar EMTs staring down at them, two of them absolutely _gawking_ , and on the other side a Drago who's **wings** were mantled wide. Completely obscuring their view of the still _cheering_ crowd.  
Since when did Drago have _wings_? And why was he smiling like tha-

 _"You heart Pu-"_

" _Don't_ finish that sentence!" Johnny found his voice just in time to cut the Dragon off.

At his exclamation, Puma, who'd missed the chiding, glanced up at the perfect moment to meet eyes with a flustered Mundo. While the gaze held, Johnny began to wonder whether Drago's ridiculous teasing... might not be teasing after all. Perhaps their Dragon friend was just more perceptive than Johnny himself.  
Come to think of it; that might help explain a few things.

"Told ya," snarked a smug sounding Clara, just as Konnan pushed past one enormous, leathery, _Dragon_ wing to find his two pains in the culos sitting on crumpled legs on the floor, still holding each other's arms.

"Campéon! Great job out there ton-"

A weird roar and the stomping approach of something massive pulled everyone's attention away from the celebration, Konnan scrambling to yank Puma to his feet before positioning himself between him and-

"Cage, you already been beat," the coach reasoned, brandishing the cane he'd already proved an effective bludgeon. "Scram while you still _have_ a head to-"

"I should've locked **you** in an armored truck, _old man_!" The Machine spat, towering himself close enough to prompt Drago moving to stand with Konnan. Stance defensive.

"What?!" Shrilled a Johnny who seemed to be the first one to process the words.

Cage craned a bit to get the _now_ standing Mundo in his sights before grimacing. "I had to do _something_ when I heard you two were dating." The hot anger fizzled off his face some at the resounding look of question from the group of -largely- tiny people. "Gossip is _important_."

"Brian Cage?"

"What of it?!" The behemoth threw over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the collection of 'shorties' he was facing down, and therefore being extremely surprised when a metal manacle closed around one akimbo wrist. Surprised enough that he did nothing about the other one being tethered together with it behind his back.

"By the authority of this warrant, you're under arrest. For the grand theft of one armored truck,"said the same voice that'd checked his name.

"Breaking and entering," said a second.

"And assault with the potential outcome of negligent manslaughter." The first again.

"No, that truck was in the shade!" Cage contended.

"That's why we didn't use a taser," deadpanned a fully decked out police officer, coming up to stand beside the Machine. Not at all daunted by the fact that his head barely topped the detainee's bulging trapezius.

That officer looked strangely...

"Peterson?!"

"Hm? Oh, fancy meeting you here, Johnny Mundo. I was _hoping_ we would; have a copy of that police report right here," he said, pulling a neat fold of papers from a large front pocket. He then came forward, meeting Johnny where he'd moved, even with Konnan and Drago, and handed them over.  
"You can look it over and keep it for your personal and legal records. There are also instructions included to make pressing charges less confusing," Peterson indicated one of the sheets and Johnny nodded.

"Thanks. Thanks a bunch. Uh, where's-"

"Right here, behind this montaña!" Came another familiar voice from behind a thoroughly gobsmacked Cage. "How's it going, Mr. Mundo?"

"Fine, thanks! How 'bout yourselves?" He asked the two.

"Can't complain," said Peterson, whispering something under his breath after that sounded a lot like, " _He_ can though."

"It's been a pain! Paco and the kids were _way_ harder to convince to stay home and watch the fight on TV tonight!" Santana griped, pulling Cage around non too harshly by the wrists so he could get a good look at the guy he'd helped rescue only a couple weeks earlier.  
"Think the only reason they agreed was I promised to not answer my phone all day tomorrow."

"That's our day off," supplied Peterson, helping the group of stunned silent Luchadores, coach, and EMTs keep up.

 _"Wait! Are you 'R-a-f-a'?"_ Signed a Puma who'd just swooped around one of Drago's largely furled wings to stand by Johnny.

"Did you say 'Rafa'? Only Paco calls me that," he added, directed at his partner, before looking back to the yellow clad Luchador. "You've met my..." The copper trailed off in a shocked 'I just realized who you are' fashion.

Johnny watched carefully as Puma told an animated story which he wished he could follow. Wished he could parse the words crafted by those dexterous hands , capable of brutally decimating a Machine, or gently offering comfort to a friend.  
He shook his head when he realized he was staring.

"Kid says he met tu familia this morning. He signed their masks and is impressed by all tus niños ASL," Konnan kindly translated, a stoic Drago nodding in approval.

"Well... I'm gonna be hearing every detail in quad stereo for a _while_. Thanks for treating them kindly; they're some of your biggest fans, Mr. Puma."

"He says, 'No problem. It was my pleasure.' Now," Konnan started on a new subject, "the Champ and I got paperwork to get straightened out in the boss's office that _actually_ can't wait." The Coach grabbed his protégé with a deceptively gentle hand around the bicep and led him away.

Puma, looking as if he'd remembered something _important_ turned and, walking backwards, used as much of two arms as he could to sign what felt like several sentences at Johnny before disappearing through the door of Dario Cueto's office..

"Okay, Gigante," said a Gabby who's professionalism was, once again, showing. "Look straight ahead," she said, shining a penlight into the eyes of a Machine and craning to get a good view. All the while two police officers holding the Machine's arms in case he decided to try anything... untoward. Like a Headbutt.

Next, Johnny watched with mounting anxiety as the smaller Clara walked right up to the handcuffed fighter, called him a rude name, and started inspecting his arms and back. Sometimes with rather forceful palpating. Looked like Clara was getting the desired effect in those grimaces and- oh. Right. The EMT had been listening to the fight and then _studying_ it harder than Johnny'd seen reason for for this exact reason.  
To know where to check the fighters for injury! If not, to know where to poke them to get them to squirm, but Johnny was _pretty_ sure it was the former. Mostly the former. The former in at least Puma's case.  
Clara _liked_ Puma. As far as Johnny could tell anyway.

Federico and he pretty much stood where they were and tried to ignore the raucous crowd as it started to dwindle. Folks going home for the night and attempting to not trip over discarded water bottles and half full soda cups on their way down from the hard wooden bleachers.  
After nearly a minute of watching, _praying_ that the Machine appreciated being pawed over by a fastidious couple of EMTs, Federico leaned an inconspicuous amount closer to Johnny and cleared his throat.

"It's good to see you two back together. Did the ASL come in handy?"

Johnny glanced at him, flashing an also not conspicuous, small smile and saying, "Yeah. Thanks for that. I owe you o-"

"So you _finally_ apologized, eh Tall Man?" Said a Clara Johnny hadn't realized could hear them. Not over the sound of a bustling, echoing Temple of departing faithful.

"You heard this loser," offered a Gabby who was still playing light games with said 'loser'. Six foot tall, three hundred pound, non too happy loser. "It wasn't Johnny's fau-"

"Like Puma could have known! For all he knew, this gringo blew him off and never apologized! 'Please', 'Thank You', and 'Sorry' are the magic words!"

"You're right, Clara," said a Johnny who figured it'd be good to get in a few words before things went nuclear, "and I 'Thank You' for _not_ yelling at me that time. It helped put things in persp-"

"You told Puma, didn't you?!" The only thing so far that had gotten Clara to pause or break eye contact with the bulging, beginning to bruise muscles of patient number one. Johnny got hit with a face full of worried 'you're in for it'.

"No. I was _careful_ not to," said a Johnny who was rather proud of his accomplishment.

"Ay, he _totally_ told him!" Clara decried.

"Yeah, he looks guilty," agreed a hulking, actually rather complacent with all the attention he was getting, Cage.

"Did I ask you? No. That wasn't even a question!"

" _Breathe_ Clara. Besides," Federico chimed, "like we just heard; Johnny's no liar." He flicked a prideful look in his 'student's' direction before looking like he'd just realized he had nothing to do and sorta hiking the medic bag higher up on his shoulder to compensate.

"Psh," came a raspberry-ish declaration from the Machine. Which, strangely, reminded Johnny of just how irregular this _whole_ situation was.

"Hey, Officers?" Both turned their heads enough to let him know they were listening. "How did you know where to find... the perp?" Even Cage looked interested in that one.

"Well," started Santiago, "turns out Mr. Brian Cage's cousin works for the security company who's truck was 'borrowed'." He said it all with eyebrows raised. Made stories more interesting.

"And guess who's security card went 'missing' the day before the 'borrowing'?"

"Yeah, poor Lucinda needed to go through hoops to get a temporary issued," said Santiago, sounding less like he was kidding and more like he actually felt bad for the Machine's cousin.

"The family resemblance is uncanny," added Peterson, a faraway expression unintentionally drawing Cage's attention.

"Hey, Copper, I know Lucinda's a looker, but don't go around objectifying my relatives! 'Sides," his mouth drew into a pout, "I didn't think she'd get in trouble over it."

"Yeah, well don't get your singlet in a knot," Peterson started. "We'll get this sorted out, nice and proper." Cage almost seemed comforted by the thought.

"I guess Mr. Cueto was right when he said this'd be easier _after_ the bout. It's almost too bad they couldn't be here for it..."

"Not you too! You're the one always saying the Temple is no place for children." Peterson's super professional carapace cracked just a hair at his partner's put out droop. "Hey, day off. Remember? This story'll knock their socks off."

Santiago chuckled, readjusting his grip on Cage's arm. "Right. Then it'll be _impossible_ to keep them off the furniture."

Soon as Cage was given the all clear, the coppers happily escorted the Luchador on the losing end of a huge fight out of the Temple and off to a nice, cozy, downtown holding cell. A small army of Temple security surrounding _them_ to help secure the officer's safety on their way.  
All the faithful, save some lookie-loo stragglers, finished filtering out about the same time. Leaving the main hall feeling far emptier even than it did on most days.

The 'Cage getting his butt arrested' excitement over with, the EMT triple team made their way back to the break room, prepping a nice round of ice-ing for the reigning Champion, and Johnny turned to a Drago who was eyeing the last couple fans still standing in the bleachers. Perhaps willing them to leave with the power of his _burning_ eyes alone.

"Hey, um, Drago?" The glinting eyes landed on him, most of the fire seemingly gone out. Good sign if he'd ever seen one. "Did you happen to catch what Puma said when Konnan dragged him off?" Drago gave a firm nod and angled his body for proper conversation, now ready to ignore the probably drunk folks security would be by to help out soon anyway.

"Puma dijo, 'Lo siento. Yo era un cobarde. No tuve la fuerza'- eh... 'I am sorry. I was a coward. No have strength enough to speak to'-" Johnny ducked to the side, just in case super hot sulfur bubbled out following that strained cough. Come to think of it; they hadn't seen much of the Dragon Luchador even after his return to the Temple some days ago.

"Are you alright? If you're still sick-"

"¡Drago!" Came a happy voice Johnny wasn't familiar with. Then bounced into view a masked Luchador he recognized as-

"Aero Star! Good to meet you! Johnny Mundo," he introduced himself, holding out a hand in case one of the only folks on the roster he had yet to meet wanted to shake. "I've seen all your-"

"¿Este es el gringo qué te enfermó?" The suddenly far less enthused fighter directed at Drago. Almost _pointedly_ not looking at the proffered mano as he seemed to scrutinize the rest of the considerably taller wrestler with the long hair.  
Wait, was he saying that _Johnny'd_ made Drago sick?

"Sí, pero no a propósito." And Drago was _agreeing_!?

"Hm. Alguien te empuja al punto de la enfermedad, _me_ responden." Ugh, it was kinda hard to keep up with the smooth back and forth. Too much Spanish for someone who really didn't get in enough practice with it.  
Come to think of it: that was the most naturally Johnny had heard Drago speak. It sounded as if-

"Aero," spoken with far more vocal control than he'd ever heard employed by the Dragon man. Almost as if he might have practiced it, diligently, for a long, _long_ time.  
Yep. They must have been well acquainted if the stiff Drago could be bothered to put _that_ much... feeling into a name.

"How long have you two known each other?" He couldn't help but ask, well aware that at least one of them would understand just fine.

"Por cien décadas," said a Drago who wasn't taking his eyes off the newest member of the party.

"For a _hundred_ _ **decades**_?!" Johnny said it loud enough that it pulled Aero Star's attention away from the look the guy who was staring into his face was giving him. It all seemed kinda intense for work buddies.

"Si, Drago y yo somos maridos. Manos para ti, Mundo."  
"Yes, Drago and I are..."

 _Wow_ that was weird. It felt as if... Aero Star were speaking two languages at the same time. One Johnny _almost_ understoond just fine, and his native American English.  
Wait! Did the guy- Had Aero Star, the high flying Técnico from The Cosmos, just said that he and the Dragon from El Inframundo were _married_?!

"But your best out of five series!? Things are getting pretty brutal in the ring."

"Si, sabemos cómo hacer que se vea bien. ¿Verdad, Drago?"  
"Yep, we know how to make it look good. Right, Drago?"  
Again in that weird stereo that made Johnny's ears feel as if they were each picking up on a different language at the _same time_. It almost tickled. Least his brain wasn't melting or anything.  
Aero Star scooted closer to the- his- to Drago and put an arm around his shoulders, almost as if trying to drive home what Johnny'd _thought_ the Space man might have said earlier: 'Hands to yourself, Mundo.'

Just then, Puma came jogging back from 'paperwork city', a bright grin breaking out across his face.

 _"Hi, A-e-r-o! ... see you... Drago sick... J..._

Yeah, he wasn't gonna get all that. It probably wasn't actually his business anyway. Even if he was pretty sure he'd been mentioned in there somewhere.  
Oh, Drago was joining in! Managing to make ASL look almost like a sequence of coded threats, softening in some difficult to quantify way when directed specifically at his Aero Star.  
Man, that Dragon was intimidating! With those gnarly, sweet wings he kept reminding himself to pull closed, and all those scales he didn't usually have. It was like watching a special on the History channel.

Then Aero Star was speaking Spanish _obviously_ to the others and Johnny took the opportunity to just take in the sight of his friend, the Lucha Underground Champion, happy as a clam swapping some sort of _involved_ story with the reportedly **long** term couple.  
It'd been a while since he'd seen that many of Puma's teeth at once, peeking out from beneath his mask between a set of lips that- that he'd somehow gotten _his_ pushed up against! How had that happened again? And... why did staring at them now make him want to- why'd it make his lips tingle all over again. Why-  
And the others were giving him a collective strange look. Because he was stuck there, like some sort of blushing, six foot tall, alabaster statue. And they didn't see a lot of alabaster in the Temple.

Aero Star was the first to break the look, moving forward and extending a hand, ostensibly in peace. "Soy Aero Star. Complace hacer su conocimiento."  
"I'm Aero Star. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Johnny shook the hand which gripped his with a firmer pump than he'd been expecting, and he felt his mouth break out in a smile at the fortunate turn of events.  
Looked like he'd made a new friend.

"Gracias por tratarlos bien. Lo siento por todos los problemas que la 'Máquina' ha causado."  
"Thank you for treating them well. I am sorry for all the trouble this 'Machine' caused for you." Aero ended the polite and thoughtful sentiment by striking a hero pose, with both arms akimbo, fists against his hips, and chin tilted slightly up.

"Uh, you're welcome- you're- ¡Usted es absolutamente bienvenido!" It came out a bit blurted, but Aero's approving look still deepened and the shorter fighter popped off a crisp salute before turning back to what -or _who_ \- appeared to be the most important thing in his life.

"Bien, Drago. ¿Suficiente emoción para una noche?"

Drago nodded, waving a farewell to his friends Johnny and Puma, before putting a _spiked_ arm around the small of his partner's back. In response to Aero's snaking tenderly back over his shoulders.

"¿Quiere sopa para su garganta? ¿Me sopa especial?"

Johnny had to physically hold back a reaction at just how obviously 'Yes, please!' Drago's _entire_ body looked as the couple turned a corner and went their way for the night.  
Those wings were extremely expressive.

The two Luchadores left standing in the center of the deserted main hall's vastness stood there, watching the after image of a couple who've purportedly known each other longer than many _countries_ have existed. Johnny was first to break the stillness.

"They look... good together."

Puma nodded, the move imbued with what might've been a wistful quality. Though, Johnny could have been projecting, just a tiny bit.

"I didn't know Drago had wings. Definitely didn't know he was _married_."

Puma shrugged, looking distracted, and turned to face the taller fighter full on. _"J, I'm sorry I-_

Johnny put a hand out and grabbed the closer of Puma's, feeling as if it was the right thing to do. The yellow clad Luchador's eyes widened but the hand twitched further into his grip, almost enough to be holding his back.

"Drago told me some of what you said, and, though it means a _lot_ to me that you feel that way, I never held any of this against you." Yep, Puma was holding his hand. Johnny's lips quirked into a little smile. "Some horrible things happened-" Puma deadpanned a 'really' that wasn't fully directed at him. Johnny chuckled. "Yeah, _really_. But it wasn't our fault. You even... forgave me before- while it must've still looked like I was a lying sack of-"

 _"Shut it, J."_ Puma signed, looking rather serious. _"We're friends-_ _ **b-e-s-t**_ _friends,"_ he let go of Johnny's hand for that part of the sentence. Johnny wondered whether Puma's was still tingling. _"C-a-g-e is bad. We're good."_

Johnny couldn't help the wry smile in response. The knowledge that Puma'd simplified his sign as much as he could tickled his fondness center into overdrive.

 _"J, we're good?"_

"Yeah, I think we are."

"Lemme guess; it took you idiotas so long 'cause you decided that a hot steamy make out session was more _important_ than getting medical-"

" _So_ glad you two were able to... kiss and make up. A lot of people never get the-"

"But they did, and _now_ you guys believe me! Only after seeing it for yourselves like that!? Why can't you just admit that I'm always right?!" Clara and Gabby, Federico joining in, went back and forth the moment the two fighters entered the break room. Going over every exposed inch of the Champ's abused body, and anywhere else Clara might've noticed getting slammed or crammed through the intense fight.

Then it was back to ice pack city, but this time, the EMT super stars stuck around past their clock out time. Not even griping over how they weren't getting paid overtime. Just... enjoying the sight of two Luchadores- two best friends, back together and obviously in love.  
Maybe Clara _was_ always right after all.

Konnan wasn't nearly as surprised as he felt he should have been, hearing the sounds of five of the last people in the Temple having a good time staying after hours. He peaked around the corner to see a bouncy EMT -Clara, was it?- sitting on the sofa next to a successful defending Underground Champ absolutely _draped_ over a blushing Johnny Mundo.  
At least they'd remembered the ice packs, he thought, shaking his head. Professionalism wasn't dead after all.

The coach turned, ready to take his leave of the Temple and allow the youngsters their fun.

"Konnan?" A call that stopped him in his tracks. Mundo'd found him out! "Come on in! We're... celebrating?"

"Hear, hear!" Echoed out to tempt Konnan, who really should get home and give his cactus a few drops of water before it... died.

"Yeah, this police report is hilarious!" He heard coming from the one he was pretty sure was Gabby.

 _"Stay a while, please?"_ How could he resist his protégé when the kid was so... happy? And dotted in freezing packs of-

"Don't get up, mijo. I'm coming," he said, decision made when the Champ'd started prying himself off his... 'friend's' _body_ , nearly dislodging a few ice packs and putting a look of worry on the glorified cushion's face.

Konnan took the overstuffed armchair that, uh, Federico vacated to offer him, and held a hand out to Gabby. "Let's see this 'informe hilarante'."

The sheets of paper were passed to him and everyone in the room giggled and snickered along as he read the entire thing half out loud, half to himself.  
He chuckled too, but seeing the details for himself, Konnan had to look at Johnny in a new light. The long haired gringo hadn't been lying, _and_ he'd **still** been trying his damnedest to make amends.

The coach looked into the face of one who he'd thought for the longest time was out to get his protégé, and saw the Luchador for what he really was; a kind, caring soul.  
Well, if he could make Puma as happy as he sure as heck seemed to be in that moment, Konnan figured he better get used to having the extraño around.

He sent Johnny a nod, meant for him alone, and with the solemn one he received in return, he was pretty sure they were good. No hard feelings.

"This _is_ funny, but if you wanna hear something that'll really knock your socks off, listen up, kids!"

The party lasted longer than he'd been planning on staying, Puma dozing off after a couple of long winded story swapping sessions between His mentor and the EMT team. The things you _see_ in that line of work.  
Johnny 'the Body Pillow' Mundo, nodded off not long after the anecdotes morphed themselves into being told in full on Spanish.  
Not long after that, Clara's eyes started drooping and Federico made the 'grownup' decision that it was time to call it a night.

"Gotta return that ambulance, after all. Real glad it wasn't needed tonight," the last said with a serious glance in both the sleeping Puma, and Konnan's directions.

"You and me both, amigo," the retired Luchador informed. Pointedly _not_ reaching up to run ginger fingers over the stitches which were due out any time now.

The three left, quiet goodbyes reverb-ing down the hall pleasantly as they marched on out.

Konnan double checked that all the melted cold packs had indeed been removed from the Prince's worn out weapon of a body. Noticing while he did that the closer of the kid and Mundo's hands were held in each other's.  
Yeesh! Even sleeping they were sappy.

Hoping that didn't become a regular 'thing' during work hours, the crusty old softy yanked an old throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it best he could over the two... novios? Eewgh. He wasn't gonna call them that. _**Way**_ too sappy.  
For now, they'd just be _his_ fighters.

And if his fighters snuggled a little closer, and the sound of purring could be picked out over the breathing of deep sleep, Konnan elected to ignore the sappiness and just smiled. Happy that the two had finally found each other.

"Ai, niños.

 **Though this may be the end of a majority of the conflict and plot, dear reader/s, there be no need for long farewells, as Prince Puma and Johnny Mundo shall be enjoying at least one more hurrah in the form of the upcoming and final chapter!**  
 **Until then, I hope that this installment lived up to some expectations and brought love into your hearts and smiles onto your wonderful faces!**  
 **Sincerely,**  
 **~Anonymous**


	11. The End Of A Friendship

**Only several days after the success that made up the World Famous Rematch between the Machine known as Cage and the defending Underground Champion Prince Puma, it was back to business as usual in the Temple. Or was it?**

Prince Puma -the reigning Lucha Underground Champion-, his somewhere beyond best friend Johnny Mundo, and the mentor known as Konnan had a nice day of practice in a practically deserted gym; being treated just about free reign of the practice ring, weights, all the bags, and even the lone speed rope, which by some miracle had yet to be ripped in half by someone trying to prove just how tough they were.

The two Luchadores worked up a good sweat with their high flying and mid-air quick changes up until the last of the company they'd had for the day left. Sending each of them a kiss as he sauntered past from the locker room, sequined duffel hanging from the crook of one elbow.

"'Bye Pimpi! Hasta luego!" Called a Johnny who'd been impressed with just how much the Exótico could bench, barely breaking a sweat too.

"Alright, let's call it a night. Abajo, c'mon," said Konnan, holding down a middle rope from ringside. Wishing in some far away recess of his... unique mind that he'd taken the opportunity and let that rope smack Johnny between the legs back when he was mad enough with him that it might feel warranted.  
He'd probably never get the chance now.  
"You two chuckleheads put yourselves through cool down; I'mma go do some busy work," he said, making sure his fighters didn't hop right back in the ring before taking off for wherever 'busy work' got done.

"He called us that because we were laughing earlier, right?" Asked a Johnny on the verge of both laughter and good natured offense.

Puma, eyes not quite meeting his, shrugged and started off in in a vaguely 'gym exit' direction. Gait not near as smooth as usual; setting off tiny alarm bells in the more experienced fighter's head.

"The leg buggin' you?" Delivered with an admirable veneer of apparent nonchalance.

Puma nodded, at the same time putting visible effort into erasing the hobble to his walk.  
It didn't work as well as one might hope. Must've been pretty bad if he couldn't cover it up.

"Uh, mind if I?" Johnny asked, showing just a hint of concern and indicating the troubled appendage.

Puma hesitated, his legs stopping while he considered the offer. Before the third beat, he'd started moving again and shook his head, redoubling his efforts to smother the pained hitch in his step. Hm, looked as if he was trying to 'walk it off', going for a lap around the gym.

"Man, if it's _that_ bad, you might wanna get off it. Think of what Konnan would say if he saw- Oh, hey Konnan!"

The shorter fighter nearly jumped out of his skin at that, and without wasting a moment checking the doors, dove for the closest practice mat.  
Johnny cocked his head at the reaction, wondering why Puma's first thought was to start a rep of sit ups? He'd never heard the guy's coach say, "Drop and give me twenty!" Besides, he was pretty sure that was supposed to mean push-ups. So...

"Konnan's not actually here... I just wanted to see what would happen," he informed. Chuckling quietly before dropping to one knee in a loose approximation of a 'spotter's' position in front of his... Puma's bent legs.  
"Let me..." Johnny said, putting a hand on one of the Luchador's knees.  
The senior of the two had some first hand experience with leg injuries. Kinda hard to _avoid_ really, in this line of work. So he figured he was just as qualified as the Barbarian was in helping out. Only _he_ wouldn't be totally flipping out and ordering an entire day of bed rest on the poor guy over it. Then strapping him down and sitting on him if he tried to wriggle out of it.

Besides, this wouldn't be the first time the Prince had accepted help from him.

"This one, right?"

He got a nod, followed by the practically horizontal Puma poking himself a couple times in the bicep, arranging both hands in claw like formations, then scrunching them into fists.  
Oh! Right, ASL! Too bad he hadn't been paying close attention. And _still_ didn't know more than a few dozen signs all put together.

He gave himself a second to figure it out before giving it a try. "Muscle cramp?" Made more sense than 'bicep crush'. And got him the nod.  
"Alrighty then. Achilles or Hamstring area?" Looked like the kinda limp you got when the back of your leg was in pain.

The lower Luchador averted his eyes and executed a beautiful tuck and roll, backwards from Mundo. Getting himself a good few feet away and _almost_ to his feet. He stumbled to his knees though, a pinched look on his face as he made an aborted clutch towards his hurting leg. Topping it all off with a thumbs up.  
Extremely convincing.

"C'mon. Just tell me- when did it happen? In the ring, or after?" Puma indicated 'after'. Which was good. Johnny'd hate to think the Champ'd been sparring on something that had the potential to get him hurt.  
"Does it feel torn? We can get Clara, Gabby, or Federico to loo-" A fierce shake of the head nipped that in the bud. At least nothing _serious_ was wrong. Probably. A Luchador didn't kid around with serious.  
"Then let me see it. If you don't wanna bug them about it," he said, a taunting grin affixed to his face, in place of the concern he knew Puma wouldn't appreciate as much as he would some _help_.

 _"It's okay. Just a muscle cramp."_

"Well, in that case, me looking at it couldn't make it any _worse_. I took a couple of masseuse courses back when I was your age. I'm qualified."

The skepticism in that one blink: Astounding.

"C'mon Champ, where's your sense of adventure?" He said, approaching the skittish fighter with slow care; not wanting to spook him again.  
Too late.

Puma seemed to glance over Johnny's shoulder, eyes going wide, before he grabbed at both of the standing fighters 'remain calm' hands and pulled so Johnny was down on one knee again.  
He had zero seconds to ponder the meaning of that, because Puma was _already_ back down on the mat and pumping out sit-ups.  
One guess as to why.

"Since when you need a spotter, baby?" Came the dulcet, gruff tones of none other than Konnan, walking to where he'd forgotten his empty water bottle by a lone folding chair. Hehe.  
Johnny still had no idea why working out was the way Puma chose to hide a potential _injury_ from his coach, but he was gonna play along for now. Just until he knew what was bothering the Prince.

"He just wanted some pleasant company," said Johnny, throwing a winning smile over his shoulder, hands pinning a pair of steady feet to the practice mat. Unnecessarily.

"Uh-huh. So he settled for you?"

"Not cool, man! He _asked_ me."

"Mmhm. Knowing your ASL, he prolly asked you to _scram_ -"

"Don't you have important... coach things to be doing?" Asked a Johnny who didn't need that negativity in his life.

Konnan huffed, then made eye contact with his protégé. "You're good for the day, so cut it off soon. Alright? Don't wanna overdo it," satisfied by the serious nod, he turned, crumpled plastic bottle in his free hand, and left the Luchadores to their fun.

"Puma, he's gone. You can stop now," said a spotter who was starting to be concerned over the number of these 'cover up' sit ups the guy was rolling off the assembly line.  
He couldn't let the original problem go unhandled, so he stuck a hand behind the Champ's knee and squeezed, just a bit.  
"Here?"

Puma froze in the middle of a motion, body curled halfway off the ground. Suspended there almost as comically as the look of shock on his face. No obvious discomfort though, so, "I'll take that as a 'no'."

Johnny moved his fingers a hand's length down, toward the major calf muscles and repeated the question.

A rather reticent Puma formed the signed letter 'H' with one hand and flicked it 'up', looking as if he was very unsure about giving out such information.  
Hm.

"Higher?" Asked Johnny, switching his grip and putting his palm against the corresponding length of thigh, right above the back of the knee joint.

Puma stiffened, regret about the only thing on his face, along with a helping of self-consciousness, and the supine fighter made to roll to one side. Surprised to find his move cut off by a weight plopping down on his midriff.

"Okay, how 'bout here?" It was plain as the mask on the younger's face; embarrassment was winning out over pain. Johnny wasn't about to let Puma leave without getting this checked out. Any number of career impacting things could be going on and-

A set of suddenly rock hard abs bucked, getting enough room between them and the keister for the Luchador being _sat_ on to flip onto his front and-

"Whoa, careful there!" Said the total butt that landed right on the small of the Luchador's back, pinning Puma to the same piece of mat before he could escape. "Here?" Asked a Johnny who had the Champ's leg almost in a submission hold in order to keep it still, and was pretty sure he was getting close to the problem area. There, after all, wasn't much leg _left_ for it to not be.

Puma, reaching for the proverbial ropes, shook his head hard enough for the monkey on his back to feel it. Then, after a few seconds of trying, realizing he was unable to break the hold the guy had on his leg, he went slack and gave Johnny the tap.

"We're gonna play nice, right?" Feeling what must have been a nod through his tuchus, he stood from his seat and, without fully letting go of the leg in question, let Puma choose what position he would.  
"Figures," he said, rolling his eyes at a face that said, plain as day, 'Keep it up and I'll kick your a-'  
"I'm runnin' out of thigh here buddy; help me out," he wheedled, taking up his spotter's position once more. Definitely not smirking at the other's preference to look as if they were just getting in a little more exercise before knocking off for the day.

After a moment of wavering, the Prince threw an arm over his eyes and tossed the other out so that his hand landed on the one intent on violating his last vestiges of 'personal space'.

Oh... No wonder he'd been embarrassed. Yeah, Johnny guessed he couldn't blame the pink crawling out from under that mask.  
The hand guiding his didn't tremble, but the long haired Luchador tried his best to ignore the way the place it left _his_ did at the foreign touch.

Johnny gulped against a sudden nervousness. Somehow, he'd never imagined the work day ending with his hand as close to _anyone's_ groin as he found his then. Barely a finger's breadth away, resting on those tender muscles of the inner thigh, right near where a leg connected to a pelvis.  
For a full few seconds, his mind shorted out and all his masseuse training went out the window. All two months of it.

Before Puma could get it in his head that Johnny also wanted to cover his eyes and pretend this never happened, the world of massage clicked back into place and the older fighter found his battle strengthened gripping muscles engaging -seemingly- of their own accord.  
He softened the firm fingers when they felt a flinch, followed by the sound of a breath pulled between gritted teeth.

"Sorry," the whisper far more meek than he'd meant it to come out. "Better?" When he heard a relaxed exhale he put some intensity back on the pained muscle group, knowing he needed to assess just how bad off the younger had it.  
He looked up when he heard what sounded like- yep. A fist thumping the mat, as if trying for a tap out.

"Yeah. Feels like a muscle cramp. How you holdin' up, Champ?" Pretty sure the one attached to the thigh he was switching to running both his hands up and down was _barely_ holding back flipping him the bird, he put his attention back to what he was doing.

...Yep. Those muscles were considerably tighter than the rest. Time to loosen them up.  
He wished he could say this wasn't gonna hurt. Instead; he said nothing. Knowing silence was preferable to a lie any day.

He felt a pang of guilt every time Puma had to _try_ not to jerk away, and regret-regret-regret at the sound of the Luchador's rough, 'This _really_ hurts,' breathing.

He didn't let himself get distracted by the little noise he _thought_ he heard come from behind him. Prolly imagined it anyway, and besides: This was important.  
As little as he wanted to cause the Prince more pain than... he already, tragically, _inadvertently_ had, Johnny knew enough about leg problems to understand that a little pain now would save _more_ pain down the hallway. If not the road.

Trying not to let his polite attempts at avoiding the whole 'groinal region' distract him, he clamped down on the hardest knot he could find and started a mental count.  
Moving his gaze up, he caught sight of a not quite forearm covered mouth brutalizing an unfortunate bottom lip.

"You know how, when you lock in a good chokehold long enough, the other fighter goes lax? Like a rag doll?" He got a confused nod.  
"That's what I'm doing right now. Choking out your... thigh. That made more sense in my head."

Puma gave a huff that shared an uncanny resemblance to laughter, then his taught diaphragm let out all the air it'd been holding onto in a big, relieved sigh. Chokehold successful.

Johnny 'the Masseuse' Mundo gave the entire leg, then the other one for good measure, a thorough rub down. Still focusing on the problem area so it wouldn't have a chance to seize back up on them.  
He finished up by testing range of motion, standing to manipulate the laid out fighter's leg all kind of directions.

Pleased with how little grimacing he saw from under that shy forearm, he pronounced his success to the room at large.  
"All done! Was that so bad?" He received an admirable 'bird' for that, as Puma uncovered his eyes and squinted in the suddenly not so abysmal gym lighting.

The Champ reached for a hand up, which Johnny gave without a second's hesitation.  
Really should have thought that one out a little first.

Before he could yelp, the tall Luchador found himself face down on the mat, another Luchador using him as a seat and locking one of his legs in for a submission hold.  
What? Oh, right! That was the one he'd used on Puma!  
Oh how the tables turn.

Even being _pretty_ sure it wasn't gonna go any farther than that, he gave Puma the tap and admitted, "I deserve that." Got him out of the tight spot without injury. Nor further insult.

"I deserved that," he paraphrased, soon as he and Puma managed to stop snickering. Both helping each other to their feet and dusting themselves off. Puma favoring the unhappy leg far less noticeably, to Johnny's pleasure.

"Well, shall we?" The long haired Mundo asked, indicating the gym exit.

Puma, all seriousness before Johnny had even finished his question, squared his shoulders and set himself facing his friend. His confused friend.  
One warm hand reached out and took hold of the closer of Johnny's, the other signing a sincere, _"Thanks, J."_

"Uh, you're welcome, P?"

Confidence not waning, the Prince stepped forward, until their chests were close; one big breath and they'd be touching.  
With his free hand, Puma reached up and set a loose lock of the other fighter's hair straight. Moving it, with all gentleness, from in front of Johnny's eyes, over to the back of his head, where it belonged.

The taller Luchador was... confused? Nervous? Flustered? Trying not to slap himself to check that this wasn't really some cruel dream?  
All of the above?

No one had looked at him with such... **tenderness** in- could he remember the last time? Had there _been_ a last time? All he knew for sure, was that _he_ wasn't gonna be the one to break the soft stare. Nor was he moving from this spot until his... Puma did.  
Wait. What _was_ Puma doing?

The Underground Champion set the hair perfectly in place among the mop running down the other's neck, his hand lingering to run down the wavy locks, just a few inches. Eyes unwavering, searching for a sign as to whether _this_ was okay, but not explicitly asking permission.

He pulled his head back, enough to take in the whole face across from his, wondering how long it would be before _he_ developed similar laugh lines, and whether that particular mark was a long healed scar, or a long worn sign of mirth.

He moved his hand to the front of his... Johnny's head, fingers exploring those curious features. Yeah, that was a scar. He'd have to ask him about it sometime.

Those lips... Puma found himself touching them, wisping calloused finger pads across the bottom half. Trying not to giggle when a tongue made an involuntary move to wipe away the foreign sensation.  
He couldn't help but stare at the Cupid's bow; was compelled to run an inquisitive middle finger across it. Experiencing the catch and scratch of nearby stubble.  
How would it feel if he... leaned in and... did **this**?

The end of a Puma tongue darted out, licked up from the bottom of the taller man's lips, brushing against the tip of his nose in its hurry, and was gone in a blink. So fast that, if it hadn't been for the tingling left behind on that proverbial landing strip, Johnny would have thought he'd imagined it.  
He almost **did** think he'd imagined it. The second thing stopping him; the fighter nearly hugging him turning a shade or two redder than he'd seen even that evening.

Johnny knew he couldn't say nothing, but in that moment he was confident he wouldn't be able to make his jaw work if it would stop the world ending.  
But Puma was... imploring him- his eyes were _begging_ him to let him know everything was fine. For him to _say_ something; **do** something.

So he did.

Johnny gripped the slackening hand around his, before it could slip away, raised his free hand to mirror the one against the side of his jaw -where it looked like Puma had forgotten he'd left it-, and took a big breath.  
Their chests touched. Their eyes glanced down to confirm, and caught on the image of a pair of lips, inches from their own, before they locked back together in a way that felt strangely new. Like it was the first time... they'd _really_ been honest with each other.

Johnny leaned his head down, at the speed of dripping tar. Puma watched, transfixed by the inexorable approach of something he _still_ wasn't absolutely sure abou-  
And then the Mundo paused, and Puma realized that he couldn't be any surer than he was in that moment. So he went for it.

The Champ raised his head, possessed by that same confidence he'd felt earlier, and licked those lips a second time.

Again, Johnny was caught off guard. By both the boldness in those brown eyes _and_ the tongue running over his lips, almost as if licking a drop of milk off the side of a cup.

He sucked in a breath, mouthing a silent oath while disentangling his hand from the one that felt the loss only for a half second before following the other's lead.  
Together they pulled at the small of their counterpart's back, closing what little distance still came between them on exhales. Bringing their heads close enough that their noses would have touched. If Puma's weren't covered by his mask.

It was Johnny, silent oath hanging heavy in the air, that brought their lips together; feeling for the first time in his life, the vibrations of a happy purr, straight from the Puma's mouth.  
This one lasted longer than the blindside of a smooch they'd somehow coordinated in the victor's circle of Puma's most brutal match yet; adrenaline high and most forms of higher thought processes blown to kingdom come.  
Johnny realized all that about the time he felt the lips against his quirk and part, a set of teeth bumping against his closed mouth, prompting his eyes open.  
Puma was smiling. Embarrassment only one of several emotions mixed into the look the Prince didn't even try to wipe off his face.

To see that- such joy and... fondness directed at himself, was... nothing short of nirvana. To know that Puma was feeling exactly the same...

"So," Johnny managed through a thick throat, not breaking eye contact, "are we telling everyone?"

Puma dropped the hand from Johnny's jaw to his shoulder and rolled his eyes, embellishing the answer with a head tilt.

"Heh, you're right. No need! Even _Cage_ thought we were dating before we did." Johnny gave himself a mental kick for bringing up something that jabbed both him and his- Puma right in the sore spot left behind by a... traumatizing few weeks of doubt, guilt, and blame.  
He nearly flinched at the cloudy, pained shadow that passed over the masked face hovering less than a foot from his.

He felt his own heart sink at the memory of hours on end spent worrying himself raw in the back of an inescapable-

Then, a set of inhumanly defined abs pulled flush against his and he realized that they'd pulled each other into a tight hug. Unthinkingly tugging the arm they had around an already close Luchador's back and slotting heads into that sensitive crook between shoulder and ear.  
Tension and worrying thoughts leaking out and away, left the two melting into the embrace. Then Johnny felt the chest against his take a massive inhale, followed by an equally huge exhale. A hitch near the end made his own breath catch; too close to a sob to be coincidence.

Johnny's hand resting on the laces of a yellow mask instinctively pulled the head snugger against his, willing away memories of a time when _this_ would have been far to much to ask of the Prince. Even if it was something they'd both wanted- **needed** , in the most desperate of ways.

"I'm not going anywhere, P. Not unless you're taking me there," he mumbled, lips catching some on the well sweated skin of his practice partner's neck. The sensation of another's personal scent mixing with his next breath of air filling him with a feeling of intimacy that made him want to hold on tighter.  
"Cage is in jail, awaiting arraignment; I'm working with... someone who knows _how_ to to press charges," Johnny shifted his head a little flusher against Puma's, relishing the tightening and loosening of the shorter Luchador's arm around his shoulders, in time with the guy's attempts to level out his breathing. He kept his strong and even, hoping to help in any way he could.  
"He'll probably serve time, and either way; I'm told Cage the 'Automated Teller' Machine owes me money." That snicker well worth he taste of _bad_ pun on his tongue, Johnny smiled.

Before long, Puma's arms around him loosened, the Champ took one more steadying breath, which just _barely_ caught in the middle, and Johnny felt cold bands across his back at the retraction of that warmth filled embrace.  
He almost chased it, wanting to yank his Puma back in and keep him there until everything was right with the world. But that wouldn't do. Like Konnan had told him once, a while back; Puma needed folks he could _trust_ in his life. Johnny **needed** to be one of those people.

Doing his best to ignore the feeling of affection slipping away, he took in the downcast head and limp arms of someone who thought they'd just embarrassed themselves in front of their shiny new... significant other.  
Before Puma could shy away or get anything more negative in his head, Johnny lifted an arm that wished it could do much _more_ and set a hand on one hunched shoulder. Relieved when the only reaction was a sniffle.

"Hey, I understand; Cage did something- some _things_ that he needs to answer for. He's _going_ to too... and," Johnny moved an increment closer, touched the fingers of his other hand under the yellow swathed chin of his... beau, and lifted with the barest hint of pressure, "you won't have to face _any_ of this alone."

A pair of eyes, hinting towards bloodshot, made slow, halting work of raking back up to meet his. And when they finally did; Johnny found himself speechless once again.  
The depth of sadness- the _sharp_ quality to the **pain** looking back at him; informed him of just how affected by the entire debacle the strongest fighter he knew had been. Still was.

Johnny hadn't realized- hadn't _imagined_ that the poor, poor Puma could possibly have taken the hit of his purported betrayal **that** hard.  
No wonder Konnan had bitten his head off with such- oh. That also explained Clara's outrage. They'd been there and seen first hand the fallout from that Machines malicious machinations.

Johnny blinked hard in lieu of shaking his head, and steeled himself to continue looking into that devastation. Hand dropping away from Puma's chin and back to his own side.

"Konnan will be here, Drago and Aero Star too, I _think_..." He got another snicker at the mention of Puma's ASL bestie and said bestie's extremely... interesting marido. Protective, that one. Over a _Dragon_ man he's reportedly known for a thousand years, no less.  
"I hope... it goes without saying, that _I'll_ be right here as well," he said rather haltingly. Not sure whether it came out sounding more like a statement or a question. Or maybe even a plea.

Puma looked down and to one side and for that moment, Johnny's entire world became anxiety. Was the Prince too hurt to disregard his non-involvement in the whole mess and... trust him?  
But then a pair of eyes, still pinked with emotion, sought out his and Johnny received one of the firmest nods it'd ever been his honor to. It caught him off guard.  
Almost as well as the fingers that came up and lifted his chin, ever so gently, so his head which he hadn't noticed droop, was once again where it should be.

 _"Me too, J. You need a hug; I'm here."_ The Prince returned his comforting hand to his side and scrunched his brow. _"Maybe not D-r-a-g-o."_

It was Johnny's turn for a snicker. Or a full on laugh, more like, at the thought of getting a hug from the horned, _spiked_ fighter. "Yeah, prolly have better luck with Konnan, there."

Aaand _that_ got a belly jiggler out of the fighter in the yellow mask.  
Until, without warning, a rather impressive-  
*Grrrbbblle*  
cut the air, and two heads whipped down. Half a beat and the Luchadores relaxed in the knowledge that it was just the sound of a full grown Puma being-

"Hungry?"

A bashful shrug... followed by a wry smile nod combo.

"Shall we?"

The Underground Champ stepped to the side and bowed, making a sweeping motion towards the gym exit. _"After you."_

"Hehe, beauty before age," said Johnny, mirroring the motion.

 _"Haha,"_ Puma signed, two 'L' hands bouncing out and away from his face. Then the Champ moved himself abreast of his beau and looped an arm around a proffered elbow.  
He stopped their progress just inside the gym exit, a contemplative head cocked in Johnny's direction.  
 _"You think I'm b-e-a-u-t-i-"_

"Every time I look at you," blurted a frazzled Johnny. A blush coloring his face well enough that he almost turned his head away, stopping himself at the last moment, knowing Puma deserved to witness his sincerity.  
"And every time I think of you!" He couldn't stop himself divulging in a single, breathless huff, right as Puma was blinking the first wave of new information into place.

 _Both_ fighting blushes by then, Puma used his free hand to say, _"You're..."_ Johnny half mistook the soft fist, thumb touching the bottom of a chin, that came forward as some sort of insult before remembering the meaning as 'not', _"o-l-d, J."_

They stared at each other until the giggling got a little out of hand. Then, shaking that off best they could, the couple squeezed themselves, side by side, down the dingy hallway, made a quick stop in the locker room, and got dinner.  
Agreeing somewhere along the way that Konnan would not be hearing about Puma's little 'injury' from either of them. After all; What Konnan didn't know, wouldn't hurt him.

Oh, right! Speaking of Konnan: That little noise Johnny thought he'd imagined? He didn't imagine it.

Konnan, mind set on making sure that his protégé had actually _listened_ to him about being done for the day, made his way back to the gym. Walking only half way through the entrance before his eyes nearly burned out of their sockets at the sight they beheld.  
He wasn't sure what the two were up to, but it sure looked and _sounded_ like something most **decent** folks would find a closed door to do it behind.

He crossed himself soon as he twisted out of the room and put himself against the closest wall, just to be on the safe side.

"I gotta have a talk with that kid," he whispered to himself, doing his best to blink away the afterimage of Johnny hunched over his protégé's lower body, hands doing _God_ knows what. And-

They were both -technically- adults, so there was nothing he could do if the two were... doing _things_ together, but there was no way he needed to be cool with it! He _still_ didn't like that Mundo character. Not if he was the one with the audacity to suggest they do 'things' together in open, public rooms that had _no_ _ **doors**_! No matter how happy he made Puma...  
He supposed the talking to didn't need to be an angry one.

"Ai: Niños," he mumbled, unsticking his suddenly sweated through shirt from the wall and shuffling off. _More_ than happy to wash his hands of the Temple for the evening.

He never should have put that nasty old cornflake blanket on them. Would'a saved him a **lot** of headache.  
Least he'd got a cute picture out of it.

 **Hope that tickled some fancies! And hope that anyone who's followed this story to its conclusion has had anywhere** ** _near_** **as good a time reading it as I have writing it! It's been an adventure. :D**  
 **Oh yes! I forgot to mention at the end of the last chapter: If anyone was wondering how Aero Star and Drago met, one could read all about it in another story I've started by the name of 'Once Upon A Time In Mexico'! (Which is available only on AO3 at the moment. Sorry!)**

 **Until next time, kind readers!  
~Anonymous**


End file.
